Dysfunctional
by smol-grump
Summary: "Sanity and happiness are an impossible combination." I just want to eat cheetos and sleep in her arms, is that an impossible combination too? Slightly futuristic AU. Cold!Anna. Elsanna. Incest.
1. Of Alarm Clocks and Men

**_Tick tick tick._**

Tick tick tick.

**_Tick tick tick._**

That's kind of annoying.

**_Tick tick tick._**

Whatever happened to tock?

**_Tick tick tick._**

Isn't this clock digital? Why the hell is it even making that noise?

**_Tick tick tick._**

Oh, that's right. I set it like that.

**_Tick tick tick._**

What time is it?

**_Tick tick tick._**

My neck cracked as I craned my head towards the clock. It's _4:45_. I'm up before the alarm. I'm always up before this god forsaken piece of crap nowadays.

There used to be a time, when this waste of space was my number one enemy. It would rip me violently out of my dreams and throw me back into a reality painfully different from the one behind my face. I used to hate it, now I don't care.

But a few years ago, I realized this freak of nature was much like me. In some strange, cosmic way. We both follow a routine set by those greater than our own existence. We almost never deviate from this schedule, no matter how insufferable it is. It's our job, we are expected to do so. Whether we follow that schedule or not, someone will always be there to yell at us, beat us, or throw us across the room.

To put it simply, we're both pieces of shit.

I think it sucks, being an alarm clock. Everybody hates you for doing what you were created to do. That's why I became this alarm clock's acquaintance.

...

Me?

What about me?

My name?

I don't know my name, I don't need to know. It's not time to go to get up yet. So I don't need an identity.

I'm a dysfunctional alarm clock. I don't follow my schedule properly, I'm constantly on the fritz. When a person talks to me, I'm most likely going to say the worst thing possible. Or simply not talk at all.

What's my problem?

Why am I on the fritz you ask?

They didn't wire me properly at the factory. My hardware is just a bundle of data chips and open ended wires. Can't you see the sparks in my eyes? My numbers are frozen in place.I don't tick or tock, my buttons are missing. My alarm doesn't go off. At least I don't think so.

I guess in a nicer way, the big clock maker in the sky didn't put as much love and care in making me. Unlike the rest of the perfectly functioning big bens and holographic clocks in this world. But it gave me superpowers. An enhanced awareness.

Sounds stupid right?

But trust me, I'm not crazy. The rest of the world is just insane. It repeats itself over and over and over, and expects to get different results. The world is blind to it's own faults.

But not me, I can see everything that is wrong with it. Everything that's wrong with myself.

And it disgusts me.

I'm like the rain man gone wrong.

_4:59, Wednesday November 12, 2021._ _Arendelle, Norway._

My break is almost over in—_4._

_3._

_2._

_1._

_59._

_58._

My alarm clock buzzed and beeped to life. My fist came down like the little hammer of judgment in court. It whined and creaked under the sheer force. It's not my fault, it had it coming. It was two seconds late. I said I was like an alarm clock, I never said I was it's friend.

Oh, you're still here.

...

I thought my rant about alarm clocks would scare you away.

Do you still want to know my name? I just remembered, right on time too.

...

I'll tell you anyway, so you won't refer to me as the alarm clock freak to your friends.

_My name is Anna Jacobs._

_I am biologically 16 years old._

_I am of the female sex._

_And I am a dysfunctional alarm clock._

...

No I'm not an actual fucking alarm clock. I'm 162 centimeters of flesh and prepubescent stupidity. I wish I was an alarm clock though, sometimes. So much wouldn't be expected of me then, I'd only have to work approximately 20 minutes per day; counting all the times my father hits the snooze button.

I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. The only light came from my jellyfish aquarium mounted on my desk and the alarm clock on the nightstand. It casts stark shadows and dim light on the mess that is my room.

I love jellyfish. They're beautiful yet simple.

Literally you couldn't walk 3 steps with out kicking up a dirty shirt or possibly smooshing oil pastel into the wood floor. I tugged my hood over my head and trudged out of my room. I have a thing for sleeping in only a hoodie and some boy shorts. Nothing else. No bras. I hate bras. My dad used to get worked up over it, but now he just doesn't give a fuck.

The bathroom lights flickered on as I entered. Pretty cool right? It's simple but useful. I stared at the mirror, for a while. I don't know who this person is. It's not time yet.

This person has dead looking eyes and a heart shaped face. Despite her age and malnutrition, baby fat still clung to her cheeks. Her freckles stood out like scars against her clammy pale skin. The dark rims and bags under her eyes did not help at all. This alarm clock is obviously broken. If only she wasn't, then just maybe she could pass as pretty—_4._

_3._

_2._

_1._

I pressed my finger against the bottom right corner of the mirror. My fingerprint was scanned quickly before I pulled away.

A soothing female voice sounded from the reflective metal, "Good morning Anna. O-o-on time a-as always." Oh, that person is me.

Ugly.

The mirror glided open with a soft click. 3 rows of medication and 3 toothbrushes lined up neatly in the sanitation cabinet. "I have r-re-received an update on your schedule for today."

Deviations.

I don't like deviations.

This sentient is Gerda. She is the house psych. Basically she keeps track of our mental health and transfers the data into government database. It's how they keep track of psychopaths and mentally sick citizens. As you can see, she's on the fritz too.

I started mixing together my daily cocktail of meds in a plastic cup. One for iron, two vitamin supplements, three pills for depression, and one for anxiety. "Anna, you missed two bottles."

The pills they make teenagers take and the pills specifically for me. My _"Anna"_ pills. I added water to the mix, " No I did not, your software is glitch again Gerda." They're placebos, they don't really work. There is nothing in the world that can correct the wrongs in my genetic code.

"Oh, my apologies then."

Stupid AI. The government didn't put much love and care into making you either, did they? That's okay, we can be neglected together.

Not everybody in Arendelle has a house psych because not everybody is considered a full fledged citizen. About 48% percent of the population does not meet the requirements. Arendelle is a big place, it takes up most of Norway. At least the part that is usable. Most of it is flooded. The land I call home is partially under water.

I threw my head back and swallowed the nasty concoction whole. God I hate medicine. After brushing my teeth I swung the mirror shut. My schedule for the day appeared on the metal surface. At least the basic structure.

**6:30-15:00 Acedemy.**

**(click for class schedule)**

**15:05- Leave Acedemy.**

**(click to check route)**

**15:30-16:30 Community Service.**

**(Click for more detail)**

**16:35-18:45 - Free rec.**

**(Click for recommendations)**

**19:00-20:00 - Appointment**

**(x)**

Maybe Gerda had too many plugs in her sockets. I don't see any deviations. I narrowed my eyes at the small (x) under the 19:00 Appointment. I'm suppose to go everyday, but I only go once a week.

I don't like the shrink.

They brainwash people into thinking they're broken. If broken, repairable. Then they try to fix things but only end up making things worse. Like covering a gaping hole in the ground with an expensive rug.

Why an expensive rug?

Because we both know damn well that you could feed a small family with the amount of money a person has to pay a week.

Now, what if someone just happens to walk over that rug? Or a big ass rock happens to fall right on top of it?

...

Yeah, pointless. You're just creating a bigger problem my covering a smaller problem.

I tapped on the small **(x)**.

**(. .-. ..-.. .- -... .- - .- -**

**/ -. .. .-. .- ..-. ..-. .)**

Something is tugging and warm. In my chest and on my face. Oh, I'm smiling. That's what it is. My schedule is deviating greatly.

But this time I like it.

I love it.

Because she is the only exception that I allow.

...

Why?

Who's she?

She is my hamartia. My tragic flaw.

...

Obviously she's important, such stupid questions you ask.

...

Well, I believe stupid questions exist.

...

Why is she my hamartia?

I'm surprised you know what a hamartia is. It's... abnormal. It'll just give you another reason to call me a freak. Don't lie, I know I'm weird.

...

I'm not a tragic hero. At least not in my eyes.

...

Do I really care about weird?

No, not really.

I stripped off my clothes and stepped inside the shower unit, "Gerda, play **New Born by Muse**." I'm _78 seconds_ behind schedule. I don't like it.

"I heard New Born by Muse, do you confirm?"

"Yes Gerda."

...

Do you really want to know?

...

Why? Fuck. Such a nosy person.

...

That's true... Alright then.

_My name is Anna Jacobs._

_I am biologically 16 years old._

_And I love my older half sister._

Not that admiration love.

Siscon love.

The type of love that gets you horny and makes you want to fight a seven nation army for that chick. The type of love that makes your knees weak and sets your heart ablaze.

I'm _**in**_ love with my sister.

And that disgusts me.

Love disgusts me, to be more clear.

But hey, I'm a dysfunctional alarm clock. I was built this way.

Blame my creator for all my loose wires.

It's only a matter of time before my alarm goes off, and someone slams a fist over my cranium.

I shouldn't tell you, but what is the harm?

You don't exist, at least not here. Maybe in another life.

But not here.

And that's how I like it.

* * *

**So! Here you go. I just wanted to play with the idea. I might continue this if you guys want me to. I'm not sure what to call this Anna, would she be considered Cold!Anna? Onion!Anna? I dunno ^ ^;; Though it is not my main story, so it'll get updated... whenever.**


	2. Happy Deviants

_6:15, Wednesday, November 12, 2021_

_You are: __**Anna Jacobs.**_

_Mood: __**Angry.**_

* * *

I don't like public transportation. It's filthy and opens up opportunity for conversation. You'd think people would follow the rules of urban solitude, but there is always that one person who wants to fill the air with their oral feces.

Fucking cuckoo clock.

That's why I walk almost everywhere. Sometimes while it's raining or snowing too. I like walking, it's beneficial. Exercise, air, and control. Control over time that is, I move at a pace set specifically to reach my destination on time. I don't have to rely on others.

It takes exactly an hour to walk to school, that's why I get up so early. My leg is vibrating. I pulled my phone out of my pocket.

_**Idun:**_ **Have a nice day honey :-)**

...

What?

No, she's my mom. Can't you tell by the retarded smiley face?

...

Her contact name is Idun because that's her name.

...

Do I call her Idun?

I call her mom. Because she is my mom. She popped me out of her vagina, what else would I call her? Father? Creator? I rarely call her by mom to begin with. I just don't call her at all, to be clearer. I talk when I'm talked to, I rarely initiate.

...

Do I have problems with my mom?

Did I not mention before that I am 16 years old? Teenagers have conflict with their parents no matter what, whether it's conscious or subconscious. We're naturally programmed to challenge and grapple with them. It's like a right of passage. That's what we do.

...

Jesus Christ, will you leave it be?

...

Yeah, whatever. My life wasn't built for your entertainment.

I texted back.

_**You:**_** We're out of milk.**

I waited patiently for the traffic light to turn red. A few people were waiting on the other side of the street. They had oxygen masks on. I don't understand why, the oxygen levels are quite decent today. They're not that low.

...

Oh about that. You see, the idiots before us didn't take global warming as seriously as they should have. And when they did take it seriously, Mother Nature was all like, fuck your shit. So most of the ice caps in the North Pole melted.

Obviously they made Santa's naughty list.

All of the little island countries are gone, Canada has been evacuated due to excessive flooding and the spread of ice. Except Japan, they managed to build a civilization on the water by studying large lily pads from the amazon and beaver dams.

_April 4, 2017, 21:37_, the west and eastern coasts of USA were hit with the world's largest tsunamis. 67% of the population was wiped out in the disaster. 3% starved from mass destruction of food. Another 2% died due to homicide.

_April 7, 2017, 5:24_. It was confirmed that the greatest world superpower had fallen in a span of 3 days.

_April 8, 2017._ Central America along with 47% of South America—_fuck._

Look at what you made me do, I'm rambling. A headache was starting to emerge.

Oh, and because of all the air pollution, there's an extreme imbalance in oxygen levels and such. The oxygen is still there, it's just not as accessible on most days. Just to answer your question.

...

How do I know the exact time?

I told you I'm the rain man gone wrong.

...

Elaborate?

Stop asking all these god forsaken questions. The group of people have disappeared, the traffic light just turned green again. _23 seconds_ of my life wasted away.

Today is just full of deviations.

I jaywalked across the street and broke into a light jog. The Academy is only a few blocks away. It turned into a full on sprint instead.

_**36% possibility of being late.**_

I'm not very athletic but I can haul ass when I need to. I made a sharp right turn onto the next street.

_7._

_6._

_5._

_Fuck fuck._

_2._

_1._

_59._

_**58.**_

_**57.**_

_**56.**_

The soles of my sneakers slapped hard against the school asphalt.

I'm late.

I am fucking _late_.

An unreasonable amount of rage swelled inside of me. Jesus fucking Christ. I turned around blindly and punched the flag pole with enough force to make it shake.

I don't. _Like. __**Deviations**__._

I didn't have to look up to know a few people were staring as they walked by. Only a few.

Why wouldn't they? A short angry teenager punches a flag pole and yells for what they presume, no apparent reason. They're probably new to the school.

...

Yes, emotional fritz are actually normal here.

"Aye feisty, keep it down."

I didn't respond. My knuckles are bleeding. That's fine, that's my punishment for being late. But it would be impractical to let it bleed. Now I have to go to the school infirmary, which means I won't make it to my first class at the time set.

I grimaced, I'm my own problem.

No one comes over to console me. That's fine, most people know me, and they know not to talk to me this early. The rest are just scared. You can say I'm an infamous celebrity.

...

Because I'm an alarm clock freak?

No actually, I wish. Then no one would even dare to mess with me.

I walked briskly towards the infirmary, dodging and weaving through the mass of students. I'm careful not to let blood drip on the floor. Academy begins at _6:30_, my class begins at _6:35_. It's _6:32_ now.

When I made it to the infirmary there were already five people occupying cots. They didn't have the Arendelle crest stitched into their clothes or expensive designer shoes from some stuck up store. At least 2 of them didn't.

No, they are part of the 43%. The population that simply did not meet the cut. One looks up at me through his swollen black eye.

You know when you stare at someone and they turn to look at you and you look away?

I don't look away. _I analyze._

The nurse finally notices me and calls me over. I move but I don't break eye contact. He's angry and tired. I'm just tired. I've ran out of fucks to give long ago. I may be a citizen but I'm not blind like the others.

"Good Morning Miss Jacobs, I assume you were late today?" I told you I'm a celebrity. She pulls out a roll of gauze. I don't like her, her sweetness is artificial. It makes you feel good but it's not natural. She doesn't care, it's her job. I respect her for that.

I didn't respond, I was still having an optic showdown with the guy across the room. He has grey eyes, they're pretty against the grime and acne scars. Blood was still seeping from his nose, it definitely was broken before the fight. He's beautiful. Tired, angry, and beautiful.

Black Eye backed down shyly, I think he could see the chaotic mess that is my mind. Eyes are windows to the soul. I may place trust in scientific method but there are still many spiritual properties to the world.

"You're all set sweetie, let me get you a pass." I took the pink slip and nodded curtly. It's _6:37_. I'm _84 seconds_ late.

Fucking domino effect.

I sprinted to class before I could be anymore late. _176 seconds_ late. The door was still open, so I just walked in.

"Miss Jacobs, you're late. That's unexpected, take a seat." I love this guy, he doesn't fake anything. He acts like any other person should act is the morning. Tired and dead to the world. There's no peppy smiles or gestures of favoritism. Everything is fair and real.

I took my usual seat by the window. A few people look up before going back to their work. Some were curious, others were envious, and a few were nasty. Like I said, I'm motherfucking celebrity up in this joint.

...

Didn't I tell you before?

...

Oh, right. I forgot why. I don't need to remember that yet.

I pulled out my school tablet and a spiral notebook. I like having a written record of my work. It makes me less dependent on technology.

Someone was still staring at me. Am I really that interesting?

...

I'm not answering that.

I looked up slowly and scanned the room. Everyone was working. I could feel the embarrassment radiating from someone close by.

Wuss.

* * *

For the last time I don't remember why I'm famous. Soon maybe, but not now.

Its _9:57_, I'm currently on my break after 3 hours of pure Arithmetic.

...

Yes, I know it's a pain in the ass. I didn't sign up for it. On the less irritating side, the rest of my schedule is mediocre. 3 more classes with breaks in between.

...

Why is it like a college schedule when I'm in high school?

That's an odd way to word a question. Why is my schedule structured like a college student's? The government designs everyone's schedule based off their mental and physical abilities. For example, if I had a bad medical record, then all my classes would be close to the infirmary.

The schedule changes every day. But for those who have higher IQ markings, they are able to alter their schedules to a certain extent. The MBTI test is also factored into the education system, but it plays a minor role.

It's stupid honestly, a government based on the amount intelligence one has.

I don't believe a person's worth is estimated completely by knowledge alone or brain capacity.

...

Wasn't the IQ test proven impractical?

Yes, during whatever time or life you come from. But here it's been altered to be 99% percent accurate. The other 1% become victims of the system.

...

What's my IQ?

I don't remember.

...

I don't like remembering things that are not needed at the moment.

"Aye, there you are", the stench of cheap cologne and body odor surrounded me. I cringed and scooted away. Absolutely disgusting, "You smell like my uncle."

My disgusting pedophile of an uncle.

...

Was I ever molested?

No. I just don't like him. He never touched any kids, he just thinks about it. You can actually see him thinking about it.

Kristoff looked hurt, "But... But it's not my fault, I had P.E."

"Regardless, you still stink", I guess that would be considered rude, right? How do I reword it so it's socially acceptable? He scooted closer to me, but not close enough to touch. His little way of vengeance, "Well take it all in. Inhale that ghastly scent."

I rolled my eyes, "Sorry, I can't smell you over my burning nose hairs." By your terms, we would be considered friends.

...

Do I like him?

Trust me, I've tried exactly 74 times to scare him away. Hell, I've punched him in the face a few times. But by the second year of junior high I gave up completely and ignored him for a few months, he just kept following me around like a mindless puppy. I got used to it after a while.

He's my mindless puppy.

Kristoff sniffed at his arm pits cautiously. "I do stink", he muttered.

Give this man a fucking prize.

"I see you were late today", he nodded towards my bandaged hand. My knuckles still sting a little, but that's alright.

"That seems to be the highlight of everyone's day." Does my suffering really bring shits and giggles to the masses? I wonder if my blood is still on the pole. Probably not, they're pretty strict about bio hazards.

He shrugged, "Well you react so violently—and you're so... y'know. Everyone wants to know what goes on in that brain of yours." Ah yes, the downside of being the high school celebrity. Your personal life is everybody's business.

Half the school doesn't even know what I look like yet my name is on their lips like an infected cold sore. I swung my legs slowly, we were sitting on the windowsill.

"If they're so damn curious why don't they ask me instead?" Honestly, beating around the bush annoys the crap out of me.

"A few did, you told them to fuck off", don't use that blunt tone with me.

I rolled my eyes, "I told you to fuck off and yet you're still here."

Why _is_ he still here?

Kristoff stretched as he stood up. I could see the sinews of his deltoids as he flexed. He was still in his special gear. A sleeveless suit made from this weird government fabric, it looks like really soft leather or non-shiny latex. Its skin tight and wired with all types of sensors. He tends to wear shorts over it. Kristoff may be a little below average book wise, but he is ripped. His family and education is all paid for because he plans to join the Special Corps right after high school.

...

How did a scrawny little shit like me get away with punching him in the face?

Like I said, he's a mindless puppy. You can kick him in the face and he'll still try to hump your ankle.

"Hey, let's go to the vending machines. I crave bad decisions." He's smiling. Why is he smiling? Today sucks, there's nothing to smile about. I command you to stop smiling.

The school walls were painfully bland and concrete. The flow was often disrupted by a chain of lockers or an occasional flat screen, but that was it. Kristoff tried to start a conversation along the way, but I wasn't having any of that.

There were already a few people by the vending machines when we got there. They were looking at the leader boards on the monitors.

IQ leader boards.

Probably a bunch of freshman. I didn't bother looking, it's of no use to me. Kristoff was taller than the vending machine, "You want anything feisty?"

I grunted. It's not very polite, but even if I don't want anything he still buys me a chocolate bar.

"Whoa, check out this chick!"

Hm?

"287, can people even be that smart?"

"I bet she's ugly as fuck."

"Why does she have to be ugly?"

"It's a balance thing. If she's smart as fuck, she has to be ugly."

"Anna Jacobs... bet ten bucks she's jewish. Like the next Albert Einstein or some shit."

"Sounds hot."

"She's ranked the national highest."

Oh.

That's right, that's me. Well they're not _wrong_.

Aha, I bet you thought I was some fucked up adolescent dunce on drugs didn't you? Don't lie, it's true.

Well, minus the drug part. Wait—I smoke, never mind. Nicotine and Phenylethylamine are my drugs.

...

What's Phenylethylamine?

It's better than crack, has the some of the same effects but its legal.

...

Jesus, it's a compound found in chocolate. Dumbasses... Unbelievable.

Thank god they don't add a picture next to the name, or else I'd have a lot more problems with this school.

...

If I'm so smart why am I still in high school?

Because I want to be here, over achievement is for the pompous asses and people with something to prove.

...

Wow, Okay.

If it makes you feel better I'm required to take AP classes. Which are basically college courses in high school, so my "gift" isn't wasted. It's not a "gift" at all, it's a rueful talent. This spectacular yet horrible power that makes up for my disgusting flaws.

A gift to humanity, a punishment to me.

No sex change, pigment injection, iris change, hair dye, DNA modification, or plastic surgery can changed that.

You can change the color of my numbers, tweak my buttons, and maybe even put my circuit board in a new plastic shell. But you can't connect all the loose wires inside my brain. Every wire is red with danger and you can't tell which will set my alarm off.

...

Why say that?

I don't know, I don't need to remember that. Not important.

Now I'm angry. Something cold and thin stabbed my temple. Ah yes, chocolate. I caught the end of the wrapper between my teeth because hands are for yuppies. It's all about the mouth skills.

Kristoff quirked a brow, his face was already littered with crumbs, "You world jumping buddy?"

That's what he calls daydreaming. It's part of his beliefs. You see, Kristoff was raised by his ridiculously old grandparents after his parents died in the Great Thaw.

It made him a dysfunctional alarm clock, like me. A clock too old for his time. His "religion" of rock trolls and magical phenomenon.

...

No, He's not sure what it's called. But during one of my day dreams or "world jumps", I heard—_dreamt_ about something called Old Norse. It sounded fitting, I didn't tell him about though. Maybe in another life his beliefs aren't so absurd.

"I was contemplating homicide." The homicide of this chocolate bar.

He scrunched his brows together in concern, "of what—the monitor or the group of freshmen? 'Cause you were glaring pretty hard in their direction, scared them off actually."

I was? Well fucking good, hate freshmen. I shrugged, "Both perhaps."

_10:13._ Statistics begins exactly at _10:30._ My phone vibrated again, who the hell could be texting me this time?

_**Elsa:**_** Italian or Sushi?**

I could feel my face contort into a shitty excuse of a smile. This is literally the last place I want to smile in. God damn it Elsa. I tapped a quick response, and waited anxiously for a response. God now I feel like the retarded puppy.

_**You:**_** Cheetos and Netflix.**

Cheetos is love. Cheetos is life. And so is chocolate. And Netflix.

And her.

"Did you know that chips are really just bagged french-fries?" A pointless fact brought to you by Kristoff.

"Did you know that pickles are really just pickled cucumbers?" I drawled through clenched teeth, don't want to drop the chocolate. My eyes were still glued to the luminous screen.

_**Elsa: **_**Sushi, Cheetos, and Netflix it is.**

Kristoff loomed over me like a solar eclipse, blocking all the artificial light above me, "Whatcha smiling about?"

I responded quickly before shoving my phone back into my jeans, "Lollipops and rainbows."

He stared at me with disbelief, "Whoa wait—really?"

"No you idiot."

_**You: Can't wait**_**.**

* * *

Hugs and kisses and lots of love turns a child into a pussy.

Whips and chains and hardcore discipline sickens the mind and breaks the body.

Whips and kisses and lots of love harvests a psychopath.

But what if that child receives nothing? What if the child receives no love and no chains? No whips and no pain, what becomes of the child then?

It's been given the hugs, the kisses, the discipline was seen fit. What becomes of that child?

The child is confused, it questions and becomes restless.

And then the pain comes rolling in.

...

Oh, I'm not talking about me. I'm just talking to talk.

...

Why talk just to talk?

It keeps the brain juices flowing. Why breathe just to breathe? Every breath you take you steal oxygen another human being could use and fill the air with bacteria and carbon dioxide instead.

Talking does that too, but I hate people. At least I'm talking inside my head. But hey, on the bright side you're feeding a plant.

...

What am I doing?

I'm dying, slowly and painfully. Like every other being from the time they are born to the time they fucking die.

...

Too edgy?

...

Yeah, too edgy. I vaguely remember but the process of death begins when our cells are unable multiply faster than which they die so... really we don't start dying till we are around early to mid twenties, correct me if I'm wrong.

...

Yeah whatever, who needs sources these days right?

_It's 17:09, Wednesday, November 12._ I'm sitting on the edge of the special spot with a cigarette in hand.

...

What's the special spot?

It's a street right next some flooded area. During emergency evacuations the government used it to make other routes less packed. Cars rarely drive on this road now, since there isn't any guard or railing between the road and the watery graveyard. Just a mossy cracked sidewalk and the occasional post.

People and vendors still tend to wander the area. Depressed people, but people none the less. Winded down alarm clocks who lost their sense of time.

...

Why is it special?

I just find it pretty. When the light hits the water just right, you can see all the old cars and trees and streetlights at the bottom. It's as if I'm staring into another world. Another point in time where life might have been better. This is where we like to meet and dream.

...

Don't aw at my words you turd, I didn't ask for your empathy nor your sympathy. I took a long drag from my cigarette before blowing rings into the air.

I'll pollute the skies with my own toxic clouds. It's funny because I don't drink, I'd rather kill my lungs than my brain.

Drunken words are sober thoughts and the secret I keep is too dangerous to let free.

No.

I'd be in so much fucking trouble.

_10._

_9._

Plus, it's sickening. She wouldn't approve. But like the good fucking sister she is she'd still try to smile and hug me and tell me it's alright. That I'm just confused.

_4._

Maybe I am just confused.

_3._

Lying doesn't do anyone any good though.

_2._

It's never alright.

I hate myself for loving her the way I do.

The murky blue-green was looking rather exceptional today. Everything else around me was fading into the color, like a dream. Oh wait, I'm leaning forward.

Something grabbed my shoulders and pulled me backwards. Now all I can see is the grey sky.

That's not very pretty.

I'm being pulled upwards, the sky reeled itself out of view again, concrete and converse instead. Wait, those are my feet, I'm standing.

"Not trying to off yourself before our date are you?" That voice. That playful voice riddled with lilts.

The world reeled again as I was turned around, with all this movement I might get motion sickness. Toned arms snacked around me and pulled me against its source. This angel with scuff marks and worn out hands. The smell of warehouse and salty air invaded my senses.

Heaven never smelled so earthy.

_I love it._

My heart is about to jump out of my fucking chest and run. Do something damn it before—no no no!

The scruffy angel pulled away, its gloved hands were still gripping my shoulders with smoldering affection. I didn't act fast enough, now I can't hug back.

Eyes like blue topaz, hair of white-gold, and a crooked smile much like my own. She wasn't dressed in designer jeans and tops made of silk, but heavy work pants and a thin cotton shirt. Grime and dust smeared across her face and arms. She's been working hard. And much like Black Eye—

_She is beautiful._

_She is a victim._

"Wouldn't miss it for the world", who'd eat all the Cheetos then?

An arm found its way around my waist again and guided me down the street, I couldn't walk on my own. My mind was too busy to focus on motor skills.

_Elsa, Elsa, Elsa._

I flicked my filter into the water and leaned against this beautiful person next to me.

_Elsa._

"Sorry if I stink, we had more crates than usual", don't apologize for things you can't control. You taught me that.

_Elsa, Elsa._

"That's strange, there should be less crates around this time", you shouldn't work so hard. You shouldn't be here.

_If I talk with you so freely, why do I feel so restrained?_

"Even if there are less crates, they'd find something else for us to break our backs over." You should be at home with me.

I could feel it in her gait. Her muscles are tired, they ache. It makes me angry and a little sad, she doesn't deserve any of that. This beautiful angel next to me.

"Maybe you should file a complaint, change community service to somewhere safer. Your job is already hard enough", and dangerous. Oh so dangerous.

_Hey, hey Elsa._

"Then some other person will just take my space. What if it's a sick kid, or an elderly person?" You're so selfless. I remained silent.

_What would you do?_

We trekked up the steep hill, to Elsa's apartment. The smell of greasy food and smoke became stronger as we passed by stores and vendors and restaurants. Few people lay around like litter in their own home while others move with purpose.

_What would you do if..._

This is the _43%_, the ones who didn't make the cut. All the defected clocks the factory spotted before they could fall into the box.

_I..._

Elsa and I stopped by the sushi place along the way, so we didn't have to go back out for food. In this district, sushi is one of the safest foods. I personally could care less for it, but it's Elsa's favorite.

_Well..._

We walked up 2 flights of stairs, and past 6 doors. The apartment building was modeled after a motel. An old metal railing kept us a few steps away from falling off the platform, we're open to the world.

Elsa got the door open, we could finally shut out the world. I slung my book bag on the ground and went to war on my belt.

Curse this oppressive contraption. Curse these pants too. Elsa chuckled from behind, "Need some help?"

"I refuse to be defeated by a strip of leather", told you I'm an idiot. I can't even undo my belt. A stupid blush was making its way on my face, I feel a little embarrassed in front of her.

...

Why am I taking my pants off?

Well who wears pants at home?

I looked up just in time to see Elsa saunter towards the kitchen counter. Even through the heavy duty pants her ass was looking perfect as always. As much as I tried to look away, my eyes were glued to the sway of her hips. The things I would do for just—God, just stop talking.

"Gonna take a quick shower, alright? Give me like, 5 minutes", she was already down the hall.

"I'll be counting", I called after her. Why the hell did I even wear a fucking belt today? Stupid piece of _shit_—_there_!

I kicked my jeans off and folded them neatly next to the couch. Elsa doesn't like mess, this is the only place where I actually clean up after myself.

For her only.

...

How old is Elsa?

_Elsa is biologically 19 years old. _

_She is my half-sister._

_And she is part of the 43% that did not make the cut._

_Her birthday is next month, I want to give her something special._

I pulled a pack of cigarettes out of my back pack before making my way over to the balcony. The top of an old rusty fence was just a yard away. Beyond that is a 60 foot drop onto an international highway.

I could commit suicide right here. They wouldn't be able to recognize the body after all the cars run over it. But then Elsa would cry...

The fence stretches for miles ahead, a false safety rail for those contemplating kissing asphalt and tires. I'm positive a lot of teens think about that crap.

...

Have I thought about it?

Duh, I just did _14 seconds_ ago.

Crap, no lighter. Someone is staring. I checked the balconies to my left, just clothes and toys. But to my right was an indifferent surprise. 3 balconies away stood Black Eye.

All the blood and grime had disappeared with his shirt and jeans. I can't complain, I'm outside in my underwear and a hoodie. We stare at each other for at least a minute.

His blazing blunt versus my chewed up cigarette.

I still look cooler, just because I'm awesome.

"Make my Day", the words came out slow and punctuated from behind. With her accent it sounded like a purr, a flirtatious invitation. Or maybe that's just what I wanted to hear.

My face heated up immediately. I can't believe this chick, "Stop staring at my ass." It's not nice to read people's boy shorts. Hell, Mom bought me these. I tugged my hoodie down sheepishly.

This situation is kind of fucked up.

"Then bring that ass over here", she called back. Black Eye's stare turned questionable. Is my embarrassment that obvious?

We're going to finish this staring match later.

I abandoned Black Eye and hobbled back inside. My cheeks still felt warm against the cool air. Elsa was already lounging on the couch in her running shorts and an old tee. The sushi was spread across the coffee table in a noticeable order. Elsa always had some type of order to her life, just an off-beat order. Something that was different from the world outside these bland walls.

All I had to do was get comfortable and put in the Netflix password.

"You're 2 minutes late", I muttered under my breath. Come on, don't ruin your night with your time obsessive tendencies.

She hummed softly, "was changing my bandages." I bit the inside of my cheek hard. Fuck her job.

I got comfortable on the other side of the couch and picked up the remote. Netflix sprung to life on the television.

"Oh, let's watch Rubber", cause who doesn't like mindless explosions and homicidal car tires?

I love this movie, we've watched it about 3 times already. Elsa rolled her eyes, "I'm starting to think you're obsessed with that movie."

"It's cinema perfection", I advise you to watch it.

"C'mon now, find something else for today." I didn't have to look to tell she was smiling. The thought brought a smile to my own stupid face.

_Well, what would you do...?_

Even though I was on the other side of the couch, I was nestled between her legs. Elsa's pretty tall, I'm sort of average. She's 177 centimeters tall.

I don't mind it though, kinda like it. From what I know, Elsa's dad was super tall too. "How about... American Horror Story?"

Because who doesn't love the amount of sex, supernatural activity, psychopaths, blood, twisted thoughts, and cigarettes they provide us with. It appears Elsa already went through two seasons.

"Sure, don't text me in the middle of the night because you're scared shitless." Good thing I barely sleep then. I pressed play, it started on season one.

Two episodes have passed and all I can say is that I hate the dad. I understand him, but hate him. The mom just rubs me the wrong way. I'll admit, I have a small crush on Violet.

_If I told you..._

When I told Elsa, she said I'd get bored with her after a week. That's definitely true. My heart belongs to someone else anyway. She looked spaced out and tired.

That's not fair. It's our time together, you're supposed to spend it with me. Not in outer space. I know that sounds selfish, but I barely get to see her face to face.

_If I told you that..._

I crawled across the couch slowly, carefully avoiding stepping on her legs. Elsa snapped out of it and guided me the rest of the way.

This spot is reserved for me, and only for me. Elsa has even said it herself. I nestled myself comfortably between her legs, my back flushed against her front.

Her arms wrapped around me lazily, comforting freedom yet sheltering security.

_That I love you?_

Sisters can cuddle, or at least that's what the ideal sisterly relationship insinuates. We're not ideal though, at least not I.

I feel as though I'm betraying her trust.

While she focuses on the affection or the connection between us, I focus on more carnal things. The rise and fall of her chest, the way her legs slides so smoothly against mine, the soft tousles of hair that tickle my cheek... I want her.

I feel like Judas. But I'm not sure I'd betray her love for 30 nights of mind blowing sex.

Of course my feelings for her isn't just flesh deep. No, I love her with every fiber of my being. To the point where I have romantic feelings for her and her only. I'm an Elsa-romantic.

But I know it will never happen, her and I. So I'll enjoy every touch and every smile I get.

You know what would make this even more amazing?

Cheetos.

But I abandoned them on the other side of the couch in my petty quest for attention. That's fine though, maybe another day.

_What would you do?_

Something soft and warm connected with my temple. Ah, a kiss. Christ, my stomach was doing flips and all sorts of crazy tricks. Her lips lingered, searing the feeling into my skin, "You're angry."

I shivered with delight and self-disgust, "I'm always angry."

I'm angry at the world. This system. My parents. The big clock maker in the fucking sky.

"Sometimes you're upset, or annoyed." That's also true. Don't forget horny, distressed, and a piece of shit.

_I know what you would do..._

"I just wish you could stay with me", god damn it, man the fuck up. You sound like a little bitch.

_You'd pull me into a hug and say I love you too._

Her fingers found their way in between mine, calloused pads versus my own cold and clammy ones. It's these moments when my mind plays tricks on me, when I delude myself into thinking she just might feel the same way.

Her voice was soft and comforting, but a painful reminder of my boundaries, "I'll always be here for you. Maybe not in the same house, but all you gotta do is call me and I'll come. I'll drop everything for you."

_But not the way I love you._

* * *

**Wow, I really wasn't expecting so many followers and such awesome reviews. I'm excited! And motivated too. Thank you for following and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter ^_^**


	3. Community Service

_15:25, Saturday, November 22, 2021. Arendelle, Norway._

_You a-a-are: Unknown._

_Y-you%are: __**V-v-Vladimir%Pu-put...**_

_Yo-u-u%are: __**Qu-qu-queen%Eliz-z-zab..**__._

_..._

_Mood: __**Apathetic.**_

It's dark.

And cold.

And wet...

And salty...

But mostly wet.

I can't tell if my eyes are closed or if I've been staring into a black hole for an unknown amount of time. This is definitely not a dream, someone important isn't here. Maybe I'm suffering from sleep paralysis and I'm staring at the back of my eyelids.

Someone's talking—_chanting_. Droning mindlessly like a catholic priest during MASS, or a guilty drunken father.

And I'm the misfortunate child that he caught sneaking out of the kitchen. The sinner who happened to come to church on the wrong day.

There's music too, slow and melancholy. A woeful undertone to this person's monologue of how he almost tore his anus that one time after accidentally getting drunk at a gay bar.

...

No that's not actually what he was fucking saying. It would be fascinating though.

My fingers twitched involuntarily, sending ripples through the water around me. My body is submerged in water, but my face remains above the surface.

Not only am I a vegetable, I'm being pickled too. Too bad they forgot the vinegar, I would have made one hell of a dill.

...

Who am I?

I don't know who I am.

I'm a vegetable, most likely a cucumber.

I decided to tune into the boring commentary, maybe this middle-aged failure can shed some light on my current confinement.

_You are, Adolf Hitler. _

_You were born 1889, April 20th. _

_Its 1924, August 3rd, Tuesday. _

_It was a rainy day, but you could care less about the weather. Instead you scribbled word after word on fine paper you've acquired from a flirtatious prison guard, passionately whispering small segments to yourself. _

Hitler? What the fuck?

My head feels like it's going to implode. The pitch black had burst into an array of colors. They lurch and stretch until they are far beyond my vision; like I was traveling at light speed in a crappy 70's space movie. As the drunken priest drawled, the smell of old books and mildew invaded my nose.

_You have a dream, an ambition. _

My vision blurs again. Before me laid a stack of papers strewn across a scratched up table. I'm in some sort of library—the library of Lansberg Castle. But these aren't my hands. These hands are pale and bony, littered with paper cuts and smeared with ink. I stared at the papers before me.

_This is your self-proclaimed obligation to protect your nation and bring it glory. The world had to know of your struggle, your ideas._

Men around me whisper in German, I can hear the rain outside the barred window, and the orders of guards. Even if they aren't, they still sound angry. They talk of crimes and longings for home—_ugh_. My head feels like it's going to implode. What the fuck is going on? Since when did I know German?

_They need to understand my struggle. Mein Kampf. This threat amongst the master race that only I am able to see. These... these __**Jews-**_

I looked down again. Small, freckled hands replaced the bony pale ones. Okay—alright, I'm okay. I am me, I am not him. But who am I?

_**Must be wiped.**_

No! I am—_author of __**Mein Kampf.**_

_**Imperfection must be cleansed.**_

I'm—_**Ad-d-dolf Hit-hit-hit-**_

The scenery around me contorts and glitches. Millions of people surround me, starved, beaten, gassed, mutilated, and shot dead. But my hands remain clear as day, ink and blood staining the palms of my hand. They're all dead. Their blood is on my hands. I'm gonna be sick.

_Who the fuck am I?_

_**You are Adolf Hitler.**_

_**You were born 1889, April 20th.**_

_**And you killed over 6 million people over the course of your rule.**_

I lurched forward, smashing into the dark abyss above me. As soon as the lid flew open, I heaved this morning's snack over the side of the water filled coffin and onto the white tile floor below. Wires snap from my body like cables off a collapsing bridge.

_Who am I? Who Am I?_

_What's my name?_

My stomach twists and I heave again, but I've ran out of food to chuck. Instead, all that comes is saliva and disgusting gagging noises. Was I dead?

Everything around me is black and grey and blurry. The room is empty, save for the few monitors spiraling out of control in the corner. That's annoying, someone should go turn those off.

Or hit the snooze button, whatever works.

The room tilts drastically to the right, but I'm looking straight ahead. I need to get out, I need to breathe.

I slid out of the coffin carefully, avoiding my regurgitated breakfast. It appears I'm soaked and naked. There's an IV hooked up to my arm, a large bag hang from the IV stand. The words are too blurry, but it's probably some LSD.

I honestly wasn't expecting to ever be wet, naked, and drugged at the same time. But now that I am, I wish it was a under different circumstances. This could be fun, if I knew where I was and who I am. But I don't know what time it is. Would I be _late?_ Or _Early?_ How many _seconds_ have passed? The _hours?_ The_ minutes?_ What's the _year?_

_1924\. 2021. 1566. __**34\. 12. 95. 31.**_

The room tilted drastically with every step I took. This space lacks any source of time. There are no windows, no clocks, and not even a calendar. It's not like I can even read.

I'm fritzing. My wires are sparking. It's getting harder to breathe.

...

I'm not talking to you! Jesus _Christ—leave me alone._

_**You condemned an entire race along with thousands of others.**_

...

Oh—oh. Alright. I'm about to have a full fucking blown episode and you're asking if I'm _okay?_ Do I look okay? I don't _think_ so. I think I look like the walking shitting dead.

_**Murderer.**_

I tried to pull the IV out carefully, but I end up slicing my arm along the way. Curse these shaking hands. The stand toppled over, making the liquid drug leak all over the floor.

_**You fool. You ambitious, educated fool.**_

My arm bleeds red on to the tiles, but that doesn't stop me from shambling towards the screeching monitors. I'm drowning, choking on the thing that keeps me alive. I'll die a blank slate. A body with no name or purpose. Maybe I should go back to my water filled coffin, I've already made a mess.

_You are A-a-adolf Hit-itler._

_You are the mess._

_The organized chaos that judged the world._

_Shut up. __**Shut the hell up.**_

Everything is too loud, too vibrant, and too blurry. Maybe my alarm had finally gone off, and the clock maker in the sky is smashing my snooze button. But he forgot that I'm a defect. I was born on the fritz. These buttons are broken, and there's no way of shutting me up.

My legs won't move anymore, nothing will move. So I sway back and forth where I stand, admiring the drops of blood against the LSD coated floor.

There's a person staring back at me. Not one person, but over a hundred merged into one human being. Its face a composite of many. Female and male, Asian and black, fat and scrawny, young and old... With that_ silly fucking_ rectangle of a mustache. Broken and tired. Disheveled and proper. Bright and Grim. Chaotic and damned.

While everything else contorts and blurs, this... creature remains unscathed. It's so ugly that not even drugs can distort its painful reality. My body lurches forward and the creature grows closer.

I can't feel the impact, or hear the sound of my body colliding with the floor. All I feel is the growing pressure inside my skull. Now I'm face to face with the new age Frankenstein, this creature of the LSD. But now all I see, are teal eyes staring back at me. Heavy dark eye lids, freckled splattered cheeks, and vomit stained face.

I recognize this face.

This is my face.

_This is me._

I am Frankenstein, not in body but in mind. I am not one person but an internal community governed by sovereign popularity, channeled through the glorified brain matter of a misfortunate juvenile human being. I don't know if I should be horrified or relieved.

...

I don't think you'll grasp what I'm trying to say. But that doesn't matter, my plug is about to be pulled. You don't have to deal with my rambling any longer.

...

Who am I?

I just remembered.

I guess I'll tell you, since my time is almost over. So you can say who made a scene out of this bland, colorless establishment.

_I am Anna Jacobs._

_I am of the female sex._

_I was born 2005, June 21._

_And this is the most constructive part of my human existence._

_My gift to society, the purpose of my life._

The world is fading out like a terrible windows transition, 4 pairs of shoes enter my line of sight before everything turns black.

* * *

When I wake again, it's to the glorious sound of Muse. I refuse to open my eyes, I don't want to know where I am. All that I need to know is that I'm dry, warm, and partially clothed.

Not as entertaining as before but an improvement none the less. My right arm stings and I definitely have a headache.

I bet you thought I was dead. I wish I was dead, but no. I'm still taking up space and exhaling toxins into the air.

...

What the hell happened earlier?

I was just performing my community service. You know, contributing to a better society and all that crap.

...

Of course not everyone does that, only me. It's because of my only redeeming quality. My IQ score of 287, the enhanced awareness. Basically my abnormally high functioning brain. If you haven't noticed already, I process things a little differently from ordinary people.

...

What does that have to do with passing out naked in a puddle of blood and drugs?

You would love to know, wouldn't you? Sadly, I don't feel like explaining. I don't remember why anymore, that information is not needed at the moment. There's no need to waste energy on excessive things.

I guess this demented ritual contributes to my fucked up perception of life. But it doesn't really faze me anymore, it's merely a part of my routine now. It's not always as violent and messy as it was earlier. You just happened to visit at the wrong time.

...

I call it Assimilation, though all the scientists use some fancy ass word I can't be bothered with to remember. People like to use complex words and obscure vocabulary to sound smart. But in reality, your intelligence is useless if people cannot understand what you're saying.

...

No, I don't have Assimilation everyday_—thank god_. There are other community services that I perform, like court reporting, organizing files, stuff like that. Teenagers often receive more manual labor as community service. But high IQ scores means special privileges.

When I opened my eyes, I was graced by the presence of time. It's _17:45_, and I am home. I never thought I would be glad to be home—in my room to be exact. The blinds were closed, the light was off, and all of my clothes were off the floor. I checked under the covers, I was in a baggy t-shirt and boy shorts.

This was Idun's doing.

Only Idun would dare to dress me and straighten my room. Well, Elsa would do it too. But she can't, because of her. A bit of anger lodged itself in my throat, making it hard to swallow.

I removed my phone from its dock and muted the noise. The harsh light blinded me, but I adjust quickly.

**(10) New messages.**

**(4) Missed calls.**

**(3) Invites.**

Invites? Gross. Most of these messages are probably from Kristoff and Hans, and then a few from my therapist. I can't predict whoever the fuck is calling me, but I'm not going to even bother with socializing right now.

I slid out of bed slowly and made my way towards the paint splattered door. I have to use the walls for support, vertigo was starting to kick in. I could smell dinner.

"Shit", the hallway light stung my eyes, but I ventured on anyway. There is an _89%_ chance of there being a chocolate bar in the fridge for me and there's a _100%_ chance of me devouring that shit.

"Hey look who's awake."

Damn it all.

I shuffled down the stairs carefully and grunted a greeting. You see that middle aged dude on the couch with a big nose and a pencil mustache? Yeah, that's Agdar. My dad.

...

No, I don't hate my dad. I dislike him for reasons.

...

None of your damn business, Christ.

"Are you feeling alright? You made quite a scene at the laboratory", he was watching some old movie on Netflix.

"Peachy", I replied with extra sarcasm that time. I almost bled out, probably overdosed on drugs, and was thrown into the mind of one of the craziest persons of our time. But you know, a good nap solves everything right?

...

Hitler wasn't crazy?

Then I guess we know different Hitlers. But then again, this isn't your world.

I suspect that he was the one who brought me home. Agdar is a war veteran and assistant chief of the Enforcement Division. The Enforcement Division is sort of an awkward place to be in. Enforcers rank higher than regular police, but lower than the FBI.

They deal with riots, bomb threats, gangs, extremists, low drug trafficking, and shootings. Enforcers usually guard high end buildings like research labs, hospitals, and other important buildings. The FBI calls them in for back up sometimes.

...

Norway doesn't have an FBI?

Every country has an FBI. It's been that way since The Year. Agdar lost his leg during The Year. It got chopped off by a group of extremists, but now he has a really high tech robotic one along with a new spine. My dad is a cyborg.

I shuffled into the kitchen as quietly as my clumsy stick legs would allow. But alas, not quietly enough. Mom looked over her shoulder and smiled at me, "You're awake."

My stomach churns with irrelevant rage but I try to ignore the feeling, "No Mom, I'm sleep walking."

She simply ignored the jab and continued to chop peppers, "How's your head?"

"Pain", I cracked open the fridge.

"What about your arm?"

Milk. Butter. Strawberries. Ham. _Eggs. Lettuce, cheese, tomatoes, key lime pie, __**leftovers, motherfucking lychee nuts**_—I closed the door with a little more force than needed, making Idun jump. That feeling of rage was slipping through its cage, "Where's the chocolate?"

My drugs man. I need my drugs.

"I left it on your desk dear, right next to your notebook. I just thought you would want to stay in bed", she was using that tone.

Oh.

Makes sense.

I muttered a "thank you" reluctantly. I may be rude sometimes, but I do possess some manners.

Vertigo kicked in again, I had to lean against the counter for support. My ears are ringing so badly right now, I couldn't hear the distressed groan escape my lips.

Idun is looking at me now with sympathy. For a second I believe that she actually cares. For a _second_ I actually see _Elsa_ standing before me. And God have I never felt so repulsed in my entire life. The universe is playing some sort of sick ironic trick on me.

But the mistake is easy to make under vertigo. Idun and Elsa look a lot alike. But Elsa's taller, and paler, with white-gold hair. Her eyes are brighter too, genuine and calm. But I can only say that because I've never seen Elsa's dad.

I look sort of like Idun too, but I lean more towards dad. My build is thinner, a little less feminine than theirs. My hair is a far more vibrant copper than my dad's, but his eyes are greener.

Idun reached to feel my forehead, but I instinctively leaned away and headed out of the kitchen. "Honey, go back to bed. I'll bring you something soon."

"Don't, not hungry", the best I could do without support was shamble. I had successfully made it half way up the stairs without problems, _but then._

"Oh, Anna."

Alright, let's be clear. _First_ she tells me to go to bed, now she's calling me back after it took me so much damn effort get to the stairs, "Yes?"

"Anna, come here." This bitch.

I stopped right in the archway between the kitchen and the living room, "Yes?"

She didn't bother turning to look at me, "The therapist called yesterday. He says you haven't been to any of your sessions this week."

Oh, fuck.

I cringed when Agdar spoke. Once he was in, there was no way to negate the subject, "Dr. Johnson also said that you've been missing an appointment every other day for the past two weeks."

Let's see… How will I get away with this, "I don't believe I need to be mentally dissected every day."

"Anna", his voice had become far more serious. I glared at the human I call "mom". She started this, she could have at least waited till he wasn't around. No, she brought this up _because_ Agdar is present.

Well played mother.

"Anna look at me, that's an order."

I turned around to face him, my vertigo started to kick in again. His eyes were boring holes into mine. Some intimidation trick he picked up back in his military days. Too bad I mastered this trick too.

"It's only meant to help you Anna. Look at me—I went to my appointments every day after The Year for 5 years. Hell, I still go once a week. I'm doing just fine."

"You still go because your job_ requires_ you to go, not because you want to. If it was really helping you, you wouldn't search for the nearest weapon every time I dropped something, or stare Elsa down whenever she stops by. You wouldn't give _your child_ an order, if you were doing fine", hey I think I did a good job. Not once did I curse.

But like any other parent, my dad only hones in on one word and throws the conversation in an entirely different direction, "Have you been hanging out with Elsa instead of going to your appointments?"

"No." True and not true. I haven't seen Elsa since last week and I haven't texted her since Wednesday. She was out doing her fucking job.

"Don't lie to me Anna", his voice turned threatening. As if that would scare me, I don't have much to lose.

But it apparently scared Idun. She was starting to regret bringing it up, I can tell. "Agdar please, she's her sister."

My rage only fueled my growing headache. Now she wants to defend me? Now she wants to defend _Elsa?_ No, she doesn't get to do that.

I stared down Agdar with enough contained rage to make him twitch. My answer was calm, _Elsa-scary_ calm. That makes me swell with pride, "No, I haven't. Elsa's currently in the North district. She has a job too, you know."

I'm talking to dad, but my anger is pointed at Idun. Agdar hesitates, I could feel the guilt coming from behind.

I could hear the faint whisper and I almost feel a bit of pity. "My baby girl."

She stopped being your baby girl once you labeled her a defect and tossed her away.

Agdar straightened himself on the couch, a vain attempt to establish control over the situation. We all know I'm the real Big Ben in this house, "Well—"

"I'll go to my appointments."

"Every—"

"No. 6 days a week."

"Anna—" He sounded annoyed. Fucking good. I'm pissed. My law enforcing father was not going to tolerate me deviating from the schedule set for me by corrupted computers and walking bags of flesh. But I have my own schedule, and my schedule is far more efficient than theirs.

"6 days. A week."

"Agdar please, it's better than nothing. She can barely stand right now, look at her." Jesus Christ you're a tool, you know that? A valuable tool and most definitely correct, but a tool. I feel like I'm going to vomit all over the wooden floor.

He shifted his gaze between me and the tool before resigning, "Fine. But this isn't over, understand?"

Agdar always expects a response, but it doesn't make its way past my teeth.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir, sergeant sir", I gave him a stiff salute like the ones I used to see in old military commercials before shuffling up the stairs.

...

Yeah well, when parents think they know best, they forget how important it is about actually fucking _knowing_ what's best. I mean, I don't know jack shit about parenting or emotional crap. I barely know myself, but I do know that they made some pretty bad decisions. Acting like it was for the best while knowing it was not won't atone for them.

I collapsed on my bed and went limp. My head fucking hurts but I don't want to move anymore. So the aspirin is just gonna have to remain dry and outside my stomach. The covers are soft but my mattress has lost its charm. Looks like I'm not sleeping anytime soon.

…

I'm a teenager, what do you expect? I'm dramatic sometimes. I don't know what I want.

…

Will I be alright?

How am I supposed to answer such a question when I barely know myself? You're a strange person anon. I don't know if you're real or a figment of my overactive imagination made to help me cope with my external and internal struggles. Probably neither.

I craned my head to the side and stared at the jellyfish confined in my tank. Elsa bought them for me as a birthday gift. Jellyfish are expensive, so she only got me two. I wonder how long she starved in order to save up that money. Idun and Agdar bought me the other four.

Elsa…

That's what I want—that's who I want.

But I'll be lucky if she even comes back alive.

* * *

**Just gonna drop this here for you amazing people. This one was _really _really fun to write. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter as much as I did ^_^ Thank you for waiting so long.**


	4. Cracked Face

_16:40, Monday, November 24, 2021._

_Arendelle, Norway._

_You are: Anna Jacobs_

_Mood: Anxious_

* * *

It's snowing right now. Nothing heavy, just little flurries of irrelevance. The big clock maker in the sky is gracing us with his left over dandruff... I like to think that he's some really angry German man with rosy cheeks and a beer belly. He'd sit in his saw dust coated workshop and watch all of the clocks pass the time; waiting for someone's alarm to go off. Then he'd decide whether to pull the plug or hit the snooze button.

I bet he's fed up with all this new technology and silly holograms. Nothing beats a good old fashion gear and clog system. But what if... the clockmaker was a chick. Or a non-binary person. No, that would mess with my headcanon. Burly angry German man is a lot funnier.

...

What am I doing?

Breathing. Breaking down fat. Digesting. Thinking. Processing light. You have to be a lot more specific.

...

I'm waiting.

...

Not what you turd, who. Elsa's returning from the North district today. She always stops by the house after work. Then we'd hang out at our special spot till its time to go home.

...

What's Elsa's job?

It's fucking dangerous and an act of indirect genocide. She makes sure those who do not fit the standards of any society remain outside the line of civility. The government calls it regulation.

...

No, not the _43%._

_..._

What about the 5_5%_?

You're more observant than I give you credit for. Did you think I got the numbers wrong at first? No, I don't recite invalid numbers. I may be broken, but my sense of time and statistics is near perfection.

...

What's the difference between the two?

Well, _43%_ do not make the cut. The social and biological standards set by our government to be a citizen. _5__5%_ are recognized as persons by the country of Norway. That other _2%_ simply do not exist.

Literally. There is no evidence of their existence in Norwegian-Swedish records. No criminal records, hospital files, taxes, birth certificates, receipts—anything that the government could dig up, they didn't have. That's the percent Elsa has to keep in line.

What's interesting about that _2%_, is that they didn't come from another country. They came from the north, far up north. A year after the Worldwide Flood. From places we never even heard of, but they claim to be of nordic descent. They are aliens in their own lands. And because their homes became ice coated islands of revived viruses and fruitless land, they came here. That sudden migration started The Year.

The_ 2%_ are considered a specter race. They all have fair hair: platinum blonde, grey, and sometimes even white. With these pale grayish blue eyes to match. Some were a rich tan, others were as white as milk, but they all spoke the same language. It was different from regular Norwegian, like creole to french. As if we didn't already have enough confusion with our language standards.

It's kind of ironic. The "master race" finally arrives, but gets treated like factory rejects. Instead of praise they're subjected to a low, demeaning form of genocide by a world that preaches of equality and human rights—_God_, Adolf is still stuck in my _fucking head. _At least he didn't try to bull shit it though, he was straight to the point.

...

So why are they mistreated? How is it genocide?

You would love to learn more wouldn't you? There are a lot of things I didn't cover. No, you've already distracted me from my task. I need to wait for her so I can open the door before mom and dad does.

...

Those people sound like Elsa?

Another point for you, anon. I must say, I'm impressed by your use of basic observation skills. Elsa's father was part of the _2%_. You see, Elsa's dad shacked up with our mom before she even considered my dad a romantic possibility.

But then Elsa's dad disappeared like a specter, mom never told Elsa why. So then after _3 years_ she sorta hooked up with my dad and blew me out of her baby canon.

Lovely right?

But anyway, Elsa's half specter race. She's an enigma by genetics. And because of that, she didn't make the cut for citizenship in Arendelle. Hell, she's barely recognized as a citizen of _Norway_.

Idunn could have changed that though. She could have taken the stupid penalty and given Elsa a better life, shot to reach her full potential. When the Enforcers came to remove non-citizens, she denied Elsa as her legal child. Agdar _encouraged_ her to do it out of a grudge.

On that day, I lost respect for my parents.

Idunn might have threw her away, her dad could have been killed by enforcers, but I refuse to abandon Elsa. Or look down upon the _43%_. Most of them aren't even half-specters or specters at all, just people too sick or too poor—immigrants even.

No one deserves to be thrown away for simply being born.

No one.

...

Yeah, well congrats. You see why I don't like my parents. I'm not explaining another snippet of information—Doorbell! Fuck, you distracted me.

I hopped off my bed and almost smashed my shoulder against the door frame on my way out. If you haven't noticed, I'm my own safety hazard. But alas, my poor excuse of a mother beat me to the door. This could be good though, let's watch from the steps.

"Oh, hi", Elsa shifted on to her better leg. Her lip was split and was sporting a black eye. It wasn't swollen, so it must have happened before she left for work or during.

Fucking Enforcers. God knows what other bruises she has under that worn out coat.

Idunn placed a hand over chest, as if she's shocked. You put her there you asshole.

It's weird seeing them in same space. I wonder if Elsa ever wanted to just punch her in the face. I've never seen her get angry at Idunn, there would just be this sadness about her.

...

No, Elsa has quite a temper, she's just really patient. I've seen her beat grown men into submission—for valid reasons... in my opinion.

Elsa shifted nervously after Idunn failed to respond, "Is—is Anna home? She doesn't have to leave—I just want to at least say hi."

Well this is not as intense as I expected.

Boring.

I hurried down the steps. Time to save Elsa from awkward death, good thing I already have my sneakers on.

I grabbed an oxygen mask off the counter before brushing past Idunn and pulling Elsa into a hug. I tried to restrain my smile when she returns it twice as tight. My heart jumps when she chuckles, "Hey there."

...

Dick move, don't care. You can really feel that tension when you're right in middle of the scene. I broke the hug before Idunn could catch wind of anything, but Elsa kept her arm securely around my shoulders.

My eyes challenged her guilty stare. There was no way in hell that Idunn could make me stay. She looks like she's seen a ghost... ha, "Oh, a-alright, have her back before dark."

"Of course, I'll make sure she stays out of trouble." The fuck is this? A date? Not that I'd mind but...

We took a few steps back from the door. I could tell she was leaning on me for support more than affection, but either way is fine by me. Elsa waved at her a little before fully turning us towards the sidewalk, "Bye Mrs. Jacobs, have a good night."

Ah, I understand what she's doing now, being passive aggressive.

We were already retreating down the stone path and on to the sidewalk. I peered at her shyly. I don't like seeing her suffer to please me, "You didn't have to stop by, you could have just called."

Elsa merely shrugged, "I wanted to see you, it's a small price to pay."

I know she's just being an affectionate big sister, but it's those types of comments that mess with my head. I rolled my eyes, "You could have just skype called me."

"But I hate video chats, they're so weird", it's either text or nothing with Elsa.

"Can you still bask in my glorious pixelated presence? Yes."

"Can I hug you through pixels? _No_."

"Not yet."

I don't think I want that to be possible either. As much as I hate humane things, hugs are special. No circuit board could ever capture the full extent of Elsa's touch or love.

"Oh please, just accept my love." Don't have to tell me twice. I couldn't contain the smile spreading across my face. But her smile looked painful. That schooled my face instantly. What the hell did they do to you?

She squeezed my shoulder reassuringly, "How's school Anna, no one is giving you any trouble right?"

I shrugged. With all due respect and honesty I give not one fuck or shit about school or any of its inhabitants. They're so dramatic and unnecessary it hurts my brain. But I still go, mainly because I'm too lazy to pay the consequences of skipping school. Also because Elsa would be disappointed if I didn't...

"So there is some trouble", she sounds mad. I've always been the black sheep of my generation.

When I was a kid, I would at least try to fit in. I was either picked on or avoided completely, kids rarely ever tried to play with me; I sounded a lot older for my age, things they found funny was just stupid to me. So Elsa became my playmate. She would go out of her way to fight my more extreme bullies. My parents have busy jobs, they were never around much. But I was a happy kid. Smiling stupidly with my missing front teeth, scraping my knees on the dirty old concrete. I guess you could say I was a cute snot nosed brat, you couldn't tell where the freckles ended and the dirt began.

But when Elsa was torn away I just... snapped.

...

Yeah, strange right? The broken alarm clock wasn't always so broken and glitchy.

...

Don't aw at my story you half-baked cunt nugget. Everybody has their own sob story, doesn't make mine anymore special.

I craned my head back to meet her worried stare, "just the usual idiocy. Nothing I can't deal with."

She grinned at me. That beautiful display of pride and happiness that I have no business even witnessing. The clockmaker truly mocks the circuit board with weakness. "Good, fuck the haters."

Yeah, fuck the haters.

That smile was back again, it brought a blush as reinforcement this time. Curse you and your stupid charm...

...

Shut up. I have feelings.

...

Oh, so you want to be a smartass anon?

...

I will throw so much shade your incompetent parrot brain won't even comprehend daylight after I'm done with you.

...

Oh because you see—birds fall asleep faster when they're encased in a dark quiet area, which is why bird owners would put blankets over their cages—_why in the ever loving fuck_ am I explaining this shit? _Stop__talking_. This is Elsa time.

"You alright Hun?" She squeezed my shoulder lovingly, her brows were knitted with concern. Snowflakes littered her hair, making it shimmer even more in the lights. I probably have some in my hair too, but she looks so adorable.

Speak god damn it. I nodded curtly, my jaw was locked due to overstimulation. That only furthered her worry. Elsa slowed our pace to get a better look at me. I'm unworthy of her fretting.

She tilted my chin up gently and examined my eyes for spots. Jesus, just lean down some more so I can kiss you. "Honest? Maybe you should put the mask on, the oxygen levels are really low today."

I swallowed down my raging heart and trained my eyes on the concrete, "Y-yeah, okay. My lungs are already destined to fail, I can take a little less oxygen Elsa."

Elsa rolled her eyes, "I can't believe they prescribed you fucking cigarettes. Why isn't mom on your ass about that anyway? Or your doctors'? Especially Agdar."

I wrapped an arm around her waist and edged her forward. I want to get to the special spot, "Because they're _prescribed_ and they do a much better job than nicotine patches. I've been given authorization to shorten my life and make bad choices."

Despite the obvious health risks, cigarettes have a calming effect on the mind. They curb quite a few of my problems. Tobacco plants have been genetically modified to reduce risks of cancer and some other nasty side effects, but you can still contract it.

And die.

Her arm found its way around my shoulder once again and I collided against her side, "Yeah well, I didn't give authorization so you're going to prison."

I fake gasped, "Oh no, please sir. I'm too pretty for prison. I'll get really buff and mean and I'll be forced to engage in rough lesbian sex."

Elsa chuckled, despite my twisted sense of humor, "Well, you got one thing right. You're _far_ too pretty for jail..." Her voice was doing that thing again; when it comes out sweet and charming and lights a fire in my gut. A sound I adore but loath at the same time, because it almost tricks me into thinking I have a shot.

It brightens my day yet puts another crack in my Frankenstein heart. I could hear the mischievous lilt in her tone, "so I'll cut you a deal."

Jesus, see what I mean? I know I'm socially retarded but I'm pretty fucking sure this is some form of flirting. I smirked, "oh yeah? What type of deal?"

Her voice drew closer, drilling shots of adrenaline and oxytocin into my system. I don't have to look at her to see that playful smirk on her face, "You have to..."

I'll have to what?

"Kiss..."

My heart stopped briefly before taking off like a raging bull. My face felt like it was going to melt off my skull and reveal my unorthodox feelings right then and there.

"My..." That airy voice turned into a clear persuasive purr.

I gnawed on my lip in anticipation. Normally I would have no patience for this crap. If someone else did this I'd just kiss them and get to the fun part. This woman had put me on edge and I was ready to jump when she said so.

"Ass."

Not like I'd object, because that is some choice ass but, "Which ass? Your face is one too." See how she toys with my emotions? I'm a victim here.

...

Well fuck you too for seeing that coming.

My chest stung a little from the unintentional rejection, but it's my fault for getting my hopes up in the first place anyway.

That light hearted lilt was back again, "which ever you prefer." She technically gave me the greenlight to kiss her.

We slowed to a stop in front of our special spot. I sat on the pavement with ease, though Elsa wasn't as fluent as usual. Our legs dangled over the edge, casting shadows on the polluted water below.

I sighed loudly and stared at the sky. The snowflakes make my nose all twitchy and red.

...

Shouldn't I have a coat on?

I should, but I don't want to.

"I got you something", Elsa fumbled through her pockets. She sometimes picks up little trinkets she finds on the job. No matter how much I protest, she still does it anyway. A soft _aha_ escaped as she pulled out her prize.

Holy shit.

She held it delicately in the palm of her hand, allowing the chain hang freely and glint in the street light. It was a motherfucking pocket watch. Not a digital pocket watch, but an _actual_ pocket watch. With 3 different hands and roman numeric. The inner circle was left exposed, so you could see the gears move. The face was cracked and the metal was rusted but this is my version of a 24k gold ring.

I took it gingerly in my own hands and examined the engravings on the back. "Holy shit... these things are fucking _relics_", I breathed. It's beautiful.

Elsa smiled at me sheepishly, "I know you like watching the gears move, and so I looked extra hard for one like this... do you like it?"

I held it up to my ear. The soft ticking was like music to my ears, etching a crooked smile in place. "I love it—where did you find this?" There is always some story to go with her presents.

Her smile brightened 10 times over. "Ah, well—I actually didn't find this, someone gave it to me. I helped her out, she said I reminded her of her brother... so she gave it to me", she said the last part in a more hushed tone. You weren't supposed to help anyone in the North district.

...

It's that place past the line of civility. Where the air is polluted and oxygen deprived, land is either too barren or overpopulated, and water rises an inch by the month. The people up there are slowly going mad from toxins and desperation.

But nobody cares, they're too afraid to care. It's either them or us, they say. Survival of the fittest. Culling of the weaker links.

I matched her tone with my own, "Where you discreet about it?"

"Yeah, of course", she looked lost in her thoughts. Her lips were pursed and her eyes had dimmed. Those are her people.

I fiddled with the pocket watch, it was a self-winding one surprisingly. I'm surprised that it was still working, "You think she might have meant your dad?"

Elsa shrugged, "I don't know, maybe. I don't remember what he looks like." The specter race doesn't take pictures, its part of their culture. I can hear traces of sadness in her voice, she took a sudden interest in the world below the water. Shit.

"So uh, how is everything and shit? Is that angry scot still screaming in your ear?" Come on, don't frown, smile. I didn't mean to upset her, I swear. My hands couldn't stop fingering the watch.

"No, thankfully. I've never been so intimidated by a redhead before", Elsa mused. What? Intimidated? Only redhead she should be intimidated by is me. Conqueror of freckles, taker of shitty souls; for I am the alpha ginger.

Elsa's chuckles shook me from my internal monologue. My face turned 3 different shades of red. God fucking damn, I said that out loud. But her laughter dulls the embarrassment, "You? Intimidating? You're like an angry corgi without any teeth."

Her laughter grew warmer at the thought, "I'm sorry love, but I don't think you're alpha anything compared to her. Her hair is far more red and she is packing in the feisty department."

I rolled my eyes, "Obviously a blonde would know nothing of our ranking system."

"Then teach me oh wise and noble Anna, what doth makes a true ginger", God damn that playful mocking tone.

I huffed, "We're ranked by the number of souls we've stolen, hence the freckles... Your Shakespearean sucks by the way."

She called me love—fucking _love_.

"Well that's not nice, people need their souls. Why take them?" Her eyes gleamed with genuine interest. You can still see that she's upset, but it's really subtle. I know that beautiful face all too well.

I almost—just almost—I feel like I'm more than this neurological Frankenstein, that I'm my own person, "Because we have no soul of our own."

Elsa hummed quietly to herself and stared at the underwater city. Her brows were knitted together in concentration. Despite her light hearted demeanor, I could still sense how upset she was underneath all of that. Something happened while she was at work, I can feel it.

"I think you have a soul", she finally pieced together an answer, "Because no one could care as much as you do and not have a soul."

An ungraceful snort escaped before I could contain myself, "Me? Caring a lot? Since when did I care about anything at all?"

Elsa wasn't fazed at all by my bitterness. She held up a finger for each thing she listed, "You care about chocolate, me, animals—mainly jellyfish, chocolate, me, cigarettes, time, injustice, Kristoff, elderly people, Na'ma, Punz, _chocolate_—"

"Kristoff can get hit by a fucking bus for all I care, jellyfish are amazing, Rapunzel is tolerable, and Granny's a fucking gift to this world—and you said chocolate 3 times." That's cheating.

"Only to emphasize how much you care about chocolate. And come on, he's like you're only friend."

Okay, the chocolate thing is reasonable. I ran my thumb along the watch's face. For some stupid shitty reason her words stung a little, though it's true. "I consider you my friend", my most constant friend and much more. Geez that was pathetic. I couldn't bear to gauge her reaction, I was too busy trying to shield myself from my own social retardation.

So when my hair was finger fucked by yours truly, I nearly dropped my new toy in the water. I peered at her sheepishly, though my head was still down. My heart was threatening to burst out of my chest at the sight.

Elsa was staring me down again with that meaningful smile and brilliant blue eyes. The snow fall around us only highlighted her wintry, specter like looks. But through all of that, I could still see the cracks in her demeanor. It wasn't the black eye that gave it away, but her tired posture. My scuffed up angel... Fuck the haters, for they know not what they do.

Elsa smoothed out my rebellious hairs and I'm silently grateful I left my hair out today. "Of course I'm your friend Anna. Always been, always will be. You know I love you."

My mind is torn. I feel the need to do somersaults and fucking spew rainbows, but my chest also feels hollow and empty. Like she scooped my heart out and left a smiley face sticker inside.

...

Yeah well, fuck me for having emotions. I don't know what to do with myself, so I looked to the sky. It was getting darker, and the streetlights were becoming brighter. That meant it was time to leave soon.

I'm surprisingly relieved. I need to escape, before I fall apart. Maybe the big clock maker has some sort of mercy.

Elsa followed my gaze and frowned, "We should leave now, yeah?"

Yeah, we should. I stood up first and held out a hand. She grabbed it gratefully and hauled herself up from the ledge. There was an awkward pause between us.

...

Say I love you too?

No, I downright refuse. I've never said I love you to anyone and I'll be damned if I start saying it now. Elsa lifted her arms shyly, she wants a goodbye hug.

My legs automatically led me into her awaiting embrace, but my hands were still clinging on to the watch for dear life. I craned my head up and did something that left both of us stupefied.

...

No I didn't kiss her.

...

It felt weird, my trembling lips pressed against soft chilly cheek. When I pulled away, she gaped like a fish; cheeks flushed from the weather and eyes almost as wide as the pocket watch in my grip. Did I break her?

"Just to be clear, I care about you far more than any piece of chocolate. Got it?" Dear god why did I do that? Why the fuck did I say that?

"G-got it", Elsa released me reluctantly. I couldn't hold back my smile, no matter how torn I am. She's just so cute. "I'll... t-talk to you later?"

My smile broadened as I backed away, but the pain grew as well, "bye assface."

"Bye alpha ginger", she waved me off. Is it wrong if I feel satisfied with myself? I turned away completely trudged back the way we came. I'd normally light a fag on my way home, but today was an off day. The smooth feel of smoke and nicotine wasn't going sooth me this time. These wounds are too deep.

I brushed my thumb over the cracked face of the pocket watch. My throat feels thick and sore, breathing was starting to feel like a chore to me.

...

No it's not the oxygen levels. Definitely not.

…

Then what is it?

Why the hell should I tell you anon?

* * *

**Just gonna drop this here. I'm sorry for the long wait (again). Everything is so disorganized lately ;-; Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. And thank you so much for the support ^_^**


	5. Out of Sync

_12:35, Friday, November 28, 2021_

_You are: __**Anna Jacobs**_

_Current mood: __**Elated**_

* * *

Have you ever punched a person anon? I don't mean those little bitch punches or play fighting. I mean _really _punched someone.

When you put your entire fucking existence behind your fist and send your knuckles inches deep into a person's buccal and feel their mandible crunch under the sheer force of your soul. They're face has absolutely no choice but to fucking defy physics and submit to the will of your phalanges. Have you ever seen blood fly from a person's shit filled mouth like fucking anime cherry blossoms while their head whipped so fast you'd think they've snapped their neck anon?

I have.

It feels fucking amazing.

If I had to choose between cigarettes or disfiguring a human's face I'd choose the latter.

Because this-_crack_-is-_crack_-fun.

My cheeks hurt like a bitch, I'm not sure if it was from me snarling for so damn long or from the punches I took beforehand. It didn't matter because the blood spray was cooling me off.

…

Can't you already tell anon? I'm punching this human in the face. Repeatedly. Left hook, right hook, left hook, right hook—the works.

…

Why? I don't remember why. I don't need to, I'm having fun. I can't even remember what his face looks like anymore. It's just a mess of red, black, and purple.

I'm creating art, can't you see the abstraction on either side of this asshole's cranium. I'm a motherfucking Jackson Pollock in this joint. Who needs drugs when they can get high off an adrenaline rush?

I savored the taste of copper and snot oozing down my throat. I think this guy broke my nose. I need some music to go along with this sick rhythm I have going on. Maybe... maybe Cave by Muse.

No, that's not quite it. Citizen Erased? Hysteria? I don't fucking know.

Maybe something from MSI will suit this better.

This guy stopped resisting a while ago. The most he does now is twitch... or is this a chick. I don't know, I should probably stop wailing on their face before I kill them. Then I'll be in deep shit.

A force of cologne and sweat ripped me from my bloody throne and held me in the air like the next Simba. Who the fuck is this? I twisted my head, just to get a look. Oh, it's Kristoff.

And Fuckface McSideburns standing right next to him.

...

No, I can guarantee you that's his name. Fuckface Shit-eating McSideburns the 13th. I call him McFuckburns for short. He's my other "acquaintance" in this god forsaken place.

McFuckburns was staring me down with those pretentious green eyes and disgusting floppy hair, "Alright savage, playtime is over."

I wiped my bloody nose, which only made the mess worse because there was blood on my hands as well. That's good actually, it might soften the penalty, "Kristoff. Put me down."

"Uh... I don't—"

"_Kristoff_."

He dropped me instantly. I swayed a little as I stumbled over to this half-conscious heap of flesh. Memory is a strange thing. I can remember how many teeth Napoleon had pulled before he seized France but I can't remember why I mutilated this creature. At least not yet.

...

I don't attack people just for kicks. That requires so much exertion and calculation. It is a complete waste of precious time. May I also apprise the amount of foolishness that follows? There has to be some logic behind my actions. I patted around until I came across a particular lump.

...

Dear fucking god I hope it's what I think it is anon.

I shoved my hand into their pants pocket and pulled out the cause of this entire mess. The pocket watch Elsa gave me. Please remember that you can pawn these ancient things for a fucking fortune.

I scowled at the bloody smudge marks I was leaving on the metal.

Disgusting.

"Really, you disfigured a guy over a pocket watch? I know you're pathetic but not _that _pathetic", McFuckburns needs to know when to shut the hell up.

I tried wiping the blood off, but it only made the smudging worse. This guilty feeling was festering inside me.

_What if Elsa saw what you did?_

_You sullied her gift with your filthy hands._

_She would be so disappointed._

_You're a mess._

"I'm not looking for cash fuckass. This guy stole it from me", I shoved it into my pocket—where it rightfully belonged. My face contorted into a scowl, I'm _627 seconds_ late to class. Another shit stain on my record. I was aiming for perfect attendance this year.

It's not like the teacher would let me in anyway, I'm filthy. I'd get blood everywhere and contaminate the classroom.

...

Well yes, there's that too. She'd have to report me for violence.

"That's still pretty fucking pathetic", he sneered.

"I dunno Hans, I think it's nice that Anna cares about something. It's healthy", Kristoff was shifting his weight from leg to leg. As you can see, he's the hopeful idiot in this crowd.

...

_Hans Westergard, 19 years old._

_He is of the male sex._

_And I hate his fucking face._

We don't have any classes together, he's continuing his studies on campus. Kristoff is _19_ as well, but he's just slow. Our classes have a mixed age group, since intellect does not conform to biological age after the age of _12_. Like I said, I take college level courses here.

McFuckburns narrowed his eyes, "She almost killed a student for that watch. That's healthy meat-brain?"

The brain is in fact composed of nerve cells, not muscle tissue or bone. Therefore the brain is not a true meat. It tastes good though, I prefer it raw.

...

There's a lot of DHA, which is good for kids and pregnant women. It contains an abundance of cholesterol though. And there is a possibility that you'll catch some form of transmissible spongiform encephalopathy.

...

Calm down, I've only eaten it once. Why the flying fuck do you care about what I shit out my ass anyway?

"—fucking god, she's tripping balls again."

"Balls can't trip dumbass", I drawled.

"Figure of speech you nescient swine."

"Do you even know what nescient means, or did you just hear it today in your mediocre literacy class?"

"Of course I know what it means", his face was turning red from aggravation. Kristoff was backing away slowly.

He knew better then to get caught between one of our fights. He always ended up confused by our vocabulary or berated by authorities for details of the fight. Sometimes even caught in the crossfire when he tried to break us up. Poor idiot.

...

Where are the authorities? How the fuck should I know?

"O, then please enlighten me—great wordsmith. Daub thy countenance rouge with chagrin; what does the word _nescient_ mean?" I threw my arms wide open, welcoming any response he's willing to throw. My voice was oozing with feigned curiosity.

As if I'd ever be truly interested in whatever slithered out of his mouth. I stood before him bloodied, wide-eyed, and grinning like a mad man from anticipation. My hands still trembled from the left over adrenaline in my veins. I probably look crazy.

While McFuckburns on the other hand, was the embodiment of a star student. Neatly slicked hair, some stupid blue shirt tucked iron pressed slacks, and an even stupider blue vest over it all. The Arendelle crest was embroiled on his shirt collar.

But he is just as temperamental and fucked up behind the pretty fuckboy face. He smokes and drinks and sleeps around. Only I'm smarter... Maybe it's a regional ginger thing.

No souls, no standards, no laws for us. God nor Satan, neither heaven nor hell, will take such deranged creatures like him and me. We're loud and angry and stuck in our teens, watch us lash at the world with sharpened claws and bared teeth.

...

Oh, he used the word correctly. I just want to piss him off.

...

I don't know why I want to piss him off, Maybe that adolescent in me is kicking in, and I just want to fight. Or some old addition to my internal community is acting up, and pumping my veins with their blood lust.

...

Let's just say McFuckburns and I have a strange relationship. My grin widened as his eyes narrowed into slits.

"Nescient; an adjective; lacking knowledge, ignorance. The Middle English word nescient derives from the Latin verb nescire. _Ne-_ as in "not", _-scire_ as in "know." Did you get all of that, or should I pound it into your brain", He growled at me through clenched teeth. Aw, am I getting on his nerves?

I wiped my dripping nose with the back of my hand, but I only succeeded at smearing more blood across my face and hand, "Nescient is already a Latin word you dingus, the fact that it's used in Middle English is irrelevant. Just because Americans fucking say quesadilla doesn't make it an English word." It does matter actually, but he doesn't know that.

"Listen here you lil' shit—" Alright, I'm tired of you now. Mentally muting McFuckburns.

The longer we stand here, the higher chances of Kristoff getting caught by the faculty for my shit—_again_, "Kristoff."

I startled him out of his daydreaming—world-jumping. "U-Uh, yeah?"

"You should leave, now."

His brows furrowed. Have I ever told you how painfully loyal he is? "But—Anna, you're—"

"I want a chocolate bar, toblerone. The ones from the vending machine on the 5th floor, think you can get it for me? I'll pay you back later", my voice was flat.

...

Oh my fucking god anon, I don't care about Kristoff.

...

Because it's not fair for him, that's all.

"Oh! Uh, yeah sure. I'll be back", Kristoff sprinted around the corner. You see—we're in the smoking zone of the campus. There also just happens to be a higher concentration of the _43% _on this side, even though the school tries to spread them out evenly amongst citizen folk.

Because of this, the security guards like to take their sweet time around here. Just a bunch of middle-aged jerks afraid of some underfed kids.

McFuckburns stared at me in silence, so of course I stared back. What he was waiting for, I have no idea. I shambled over towards the flesh mound on the floor and kneeled; my eyes never left his.

I felt for a pulse, which they still had thankfully. They're still breathing too, extra points. Both of their eyes were swollen shut, and I couldn't find the Arendelle crest on anywhere.

...

Why is the crest important?

It marks you as a citizen, that's why. It's a sign of privilege.

"Elsa will be so disappointed when she finds out about this."

My skin prickled as that sickening voice drew closer. It took all of my willpower not to sock him right in the eye.

"I know", the watch felt heavy in my pocket. I could actually _feel _each tick as the seconds creeped by. The blood on my hands had turned sticky and darkened. I crossed my legs and waited patiently.

_820..._

_821..._

_823..._

How long till the security guards come?

_826..._

I could feel McFuckburns presence right behind me now. He doesn't understand me sometimes, the things I do. I would carry this person to the nurse, but blood would drip on the ground. That's a biosafety hazard, which will disrupt everyone's schedule.

I don't want to throw off everyone's time.

"Anna you can easily walk away and get out of trouble", that's a possible route.

I shrugged, "I know." But I follow a different set of standards. I prefer to own up to my actions. The sound of heels against cement faded away, which could only mean McFuckburns left.

_842 seconds._

_843 seconds._

_844 seconds._

"Hey—you two! The fuck are you doing over there?"

_847 seconds_. That's how long it took them to respond. My vision swerved as the guard pulled me to my feet by my hood. She was careful not to directly touch me, or else she'll be part of the crime scene.

The other guard gave orders into his stupid high tech wristband, "I need a stretcher, nurses, and a janitor. Got ourselves a bloody one over here... Appears to be a civilian and a citizen. Civilian unidentifiable. Citizen is...?" He nodded towards me.

"Anna Jacobs."

The security guard did a double take, and I could feel the other one staring at me. I didn't feel like turning around to stare back. She might accuse me of attempted assault.

...

Why are they surprised?

God anon, I said this before. People know my name but they don't actually _know _me. I'm like this magical fucking unicorn that turns out to be a zebra with an empty toilet roll tapped to its ass when you find it. All they know is that I'm freaky and should not be provoked.

"Citizen is Jacobs, Jacobs Anna... Yes, Anna Jacobs. She finally snapped—"

"—Are they dead?" I remained calm, there's no reason to get angry.

He glanced between me and the body on the floor, "Uh, pardon?"

"Is. The person. Alive?"

The security guard looked nervous. Why? I have no idea. I'm just asking a question. "I believe so—"

"Then I haven't snapped."

They stared at me with equal disbelief. I don't know why, I'm just saying. If I snapped there would be dead people,_ a lot_ of dead people. Or I would be dead. Or that flagpole would have been knocked over. Maybe all three.

...

I just feel like they underestimate my abilities; I take partial offense.

...

You don't think I can knock over a flagpole? I think I can flip a car over if I have a good enough reason.

"What's your ID number Anna?"

"60660", I drawled.

...

I know, funny right? I have the mark of Nero. The security guard stared at me, and I stared right back. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

The security man turned away and relayed the numbers into his intercom without a second glance.

The security lady tightened her grip on my hood, as if I'd bolt when I got the chance. If I wanted to fucking leave I would have done it _4 minutes_ ago.

It wasn't long until a red van came around the corner. Why they needed such a vehicle at school? It's a big fucking campus. The back doors swung open and the nurses snapped into action with gloved hands and face masks and a gurney in toe. Janitors followed right after with supplies.

I saw the look of horror in their eyes as they checked the person for heart rate and breathing. I didn't get to see everything though, the security guard roughly shoved me into the back of the van. I sat on the small bench against the wall and examined my knuckles. God they're a fucking mess, I think I see bone.

...

Well anon, what the hell would you do in this situation? I would love to know.

It wasn't long before the creature was hoisted back into the van along with the nurses. They were conscious surprisingly—well barely conscious. They made a strange noise and tried to scoot to the other side of the gurney, but straps were in place.

I don't get it, what's so scary?

...

Me? I'm not scary.

"Ms. Jacobs, I'm gonna have to ask you to turn your head towards me", nurses were strange. They didn't show any disgust or resentment, or at least they were good at hiding it. A happy face means more credit from the employer.

I faced her, but my eyes never left this person's face. She was surprisingly gentle with my face, "Looks like you got off almost Scot free compared to him."

Ah, so it is a guy, "He needs to work on his defense. If he blocked the right hook, then countered my uppercut by grabbing my wrist and kneeing me in the stomach, and then slammed his elbow against my nape, he could have gotten away with a lot less injury. And I would be unconscious."

The meat sack finally went limp again. I didn't care how he was feeling or what was going through his fucking head. The nurse wasn't fazed by me at all, "What he needs to do is stay away from fist fights—both of you."

...

My dad taught me how to fight, I don't like fighting though. Violence is very efficient, despite what the peaceful protesters and Gandhi's wannabes say. But it's overused and misplaced, which makes it a waste of time and energy.

...

I said it's efficient, not good. It's not bad either. Violence is merely a tool, it doesn't have the ability reason and make decisions of its own. The person who uses it influences the morality of the actions it takes. A dagger's only purpose is to cut and stab, but doesn't a scalpel do the exact same thing? Instinctively you label the dagger to be far more dangerous.

...

Alright then, I rest my case.

The ride was short, but it would have taken a lot longer by foot. As soon as the flesh bag was out of the way, another security guard came to drag me out of the van and into the infirmary.

...

No you see, this place isn't just one school. It's comprised of 6 different buildings, a park, and a separate auditorium. Some buildings are connected with sky bridges while you have open halls leading to others.

...

I'm not explaining the full layout of the campus. I'm not your fucking tour guide.

I don't see why they need to be so rough, I haven't showed resistance yet. He led me through the double doors by my hood and pointed towards a spare cot, "sit down, and if you get up I will handcuff you to the bed."

"Kinky", I muttered before planting myself on the lumpy mattress. The security guard scrunched his nose, but didn't say anything else. Curtains separated each cot for privacy, but I could tell there were at least four other delinquents in the room.

"Ms. Jacobs, please turn to face me", I thought about being rebellious, but that wouldn't get me anywhere. I've already been caught. Her silvery hair and grey eyes had thrown me off guard.

...

You don't normally find specters working in schools or any important buildings.

The first thing she did was examine my swelling nose, "It's definitely broken, but it's not crooked or caved in so that's good. There is a nasty gash along the bridge though, we'll have to stitch that up. Now about that blood..."

She rolled up small plugs of gauze and packed my nostrils. It wasn't the real solution, but at least it stopped the blood from running down my face and staining my hoodie even more.

Her expression wasn't overly kind or even concerned... She literally was doing only what was required of her. I leaned my head forward like she asked, just to keep me from drowning in my own blood.

The nurse began wiping the dried blood off my face with peroxide soaked cotton swabs, "You really did get the better end of the fight." I flinched away when she wiped away at my eyebrow. It appears I have a gash there too.

She kept rubbing anyway, just to sterilize it. I stared at the ground, "Half or whole."

"Excuse me?"

I locked eyes with her as she moved on to my cleaning off my neck, "Half or whole?"

Her eyes widened when the meaning finally hit home. But they became neutral right after, "half. They wouldn't let a pure bred in here."

Makes sense, there was this tension and for once I felt incredibly awkward in it. Like I just asked if she ever had an abortion. After closing the gashes with stitches and steri-strips. She asked me to take off my hoodie and the shirt I was wearing underneath. They both were stained and considered evidence.

Sitting around in my bra isn't much of a problem, I just hate it when people stare at my physique. My body teeters on the edge of healthy and unhealthy, only because I don't eat properly. My ribs may just barely graze the surface, or my back feels weird like a cat's. But it's nothing serious. I was already starting to bruise where he landed a few critical blows.

I rubbed my forearms and hands clean in the water basin she set up and dried off with a towel. Even without the blood, my knuckles still looked fucked up. The nurse was already waiting with more peroxide and swabs.

"My sister is half", it escaped before I could do anything about it. The nurse paused to look at me, but my eyes were glued to my hands. She continued to clean my wounds, as if the burning feel was a punishment on my behalf. I actually liked it though.

"She's also a headsman, yeah?" That's the natural assumption for a half-Specter. The proper term is Regulation Scout, but the _43% _call them, headsmen or black harvesters.

...

Why black harvesters?

Because they are covered head to toe in black. Black cowl, black mask, black under armor, black boots, black pants—everything is colored black. Black is normally associated with evil and death as well.

"Yes..." I narrowed my eyes. I was ready to beat the shit out of her if she started ranting about how traitorous and heartless they are. She wrapped the bandages tightly around my hand, "my brother used to be a headsman."

Used to? Once you're a Regulation Scout, you're one for life. Broke your legs? No problem, they'll chop them off and replace them with the shittiest robotic legs they can find. Missing a lung? Who the fuck needs two lungs anyway? Coughing blood? Walk it off. Have a heart problem? They'll bring a defibrillator unit out for you on your missions. The only way out is by pardon or death. For anyone other than a citizen—just death.

I didn't reply. I wasn't sure how to without showing how socially inadequate I am when it comes to exercising empathy. The absence of a reply would most likely highlight that issue actually. Oh fucking well.

When she was finished, she passed me one of those stiff school shirts with the emblem imprinted on the sleeve. By the time it was all done my nose had stopped bleeding on its own and I was clean enough to be manhandled by authorities again.

...

Where to now?

Why the guidance office of course. Have you ever gotten in trouble anon? Don't tell me you're a well-rounded, simple human being. There's no fun in that. Be loud and chaotic. Submit your conscious to the ever growing entropy.

...

You're sent to the dean's office instead?

Well, that would make more sense actually, but everyone in that department is either severely injured or dead.

...

I told you that there are a lot of emotional breakdowns in this place. Those often lead to some violent outbreaks.

The walk to the office wasn't that long. At least not to me, but I like walking. I stuffed my hand in my pocket and toyed with whatever loose change I had. The pocket watch was snug in my other pocket, but I didn't feel worthy enough to touch it.

The guidance office was really just a section for a bunch of cubicles and smaller offices built for guidance counselors.

My guidance counselor isn't very helpful. A painfully honest person, but unreliable. They don't identify as anything. Instead of Mr. or Ms., they just tell me to call them Payton. The thing was, you couldn't even tell Payton's sex or they're age.

I decided that they were the perfect androgynous life form when we first met. The security guards ushered me into their office and slammed the door behind me.

Payton looked up from their virtual chess game. They scowled at my dull expression, "Oh come on, if you're going fuck someone up at least take pride in your work."

"My actions were unnecessary", I sat in the closest seat to the door. The other kid's guardian was sitting in the farthest chair from it. From the look on her face, this wasn't the first time she's been here.

"True, you should know better. I'm disappointed Anna-banana", their half-assed scolding only furthers my point.

"Deadbeat."

"Name calling isn't nice", they drawled.

"I merely responded to your offensive comment", I crossed my legs. It's like I'm conversing with a teenager. The door was thrown open.

The other student was roughly dragged into the office by a burly security guard and was thrown into the chair next to his guardian. He was given a plain white shirt and sweatpants from the campus store. Not a single emblem on his person.

I don't see why they have to be so rough, the guy wasn't being rebellious. Actually, he shouldn't even be moving. He definitely has a concussion or some sort of head trauma. Even after having his face cleaned up, he still was hard on the eyes. It didn't warp the mark of defeat, but enhanced it.

This was obviously an all or nothing job. He either wins the money or gets a hefty penalty and big ass grease stain on his already dingy record. Luck is a tall tale written by the well off and sung by fools.

"Ah, Benjamin. Thrown off his winning streak by the infamous Anna-Banana, this isn't as exciting as I thought it would be", Payton said. Their face was literally inches away from the screen, "You were a little too confident in your skills my friend."

"It's Ben Bjørn. Ben. _Bjørn_", he moaned. Stop trying dingus. It's not that he doesn't know, he doesn't give a fuck about your name. And neither do I.

Bjørn's guardian finally spoke up, "Can we get this over with? I have a meeting soon."

She looked incredibly uncomfortable and self-conscious. Thirty bucks says she is his only source of income, works two jobs, and desperately trying to keep food on the table. Twenty says they are a week late on their rent, the guardian can't afford medication, and there is an extra mouth at home to feed. Another thirty says he's a crime away from being expelled.

...

No? Don't want to bet? You made a wise decision.

Payton cursed under their breath. Judging by the red glare against their face, they lost. They sat up and began pulling up our files, "Not until Anna's fill-in guardian makes an appearance."

"What do you mean fill-in?" I was on the edge of my seat.

Payton continued typing away, "Your father's job does not allow him to leave for trivial reasons. I could not get a hold of your mother either, so I requested your sister."

No. No no no. Fucking fuck why!?

If my knuckles weren't already red and purple, they would most definitely be white right now. I clenched my fists so hard my nails were going to leave imprints in my palms.

It's as if the fucking world flipped me off with a giant phallus for a middle finger. That need for violence was crawling all over my skin again.

"I've always wanted to meet your sister, you seem to hold her in higher regards than your parents. She must be very nice", Payton leaned back in their chair and laced their fingers over their stomach.

I didn't say anything, they would find some way to use it against me. We sat in near silence. Ben's guardian was whispering to him harshly, his responses were heavily delayed and jumbled.

_213..._

_214..._

_215..._

_216..._

There was a soft knock on the door. I heard something along the lines of finally from the other side of the room and Payton straightened their chair, "come in."

_220..._

The door opened with a soft click. Elsa stepped into the room and quickly closed the door behind her. I caught a glimpse of the security guards that were definitely watching her like fresh meat.

The fact that she was dressed in all black washed out the color of her hair and made her eyes pop. Black and grey under armor, black pants, and black boots. Her work clothes without the armor.

Her blank expression was just an enhancement on her dangerous appeal, "Sorry for the delay, security wanted to be thorough." Elsa held out a hand, which Payton stood up and shook.

"No, it's absolutely alright Ms. Foss. I'm sorry for pulling you from your work, it's a pleasure to finally meet Anna-Banana's sister." I swear to god if they start hitting on my sister Ben won't be the only one needing plastic surgery.

She smiled politely, but I could see the amusement in her eyes, "Likewise." What the actual fuck Payton?

That smile fell as Elsa walked over took a seat next to me. By reflex my eyes glued to the floor.

Payton plopped in their seat and turned to face us, "I'm sorry to interrupt you lovely ladies from your daily lives—actually, your siblings should be sorry for conducting themselves in such an inappropriate, unnecessary way."

Like you're one to talk.

My heart didn't know whether to hammer or stop. My fingers were twitching, I wanted to fiddle with the watch. But I couldn't.

Payton began muttering to themselves as they filed information into the system, "File report blah blah blah... Jacobs Anna, Bjørn Ben. Physical fight—no weapons involved?"

"No", just pure skin against skin.

"No hair pulling?"

"No", Ben grumbled.

"A fair fight, that's rare", in reality they didn't give a shit, "Fill-in Guardian of Jacobs Anna, Foss Elsa. Guardian of Bjørn Ben, Bjørn Celti... etcetera, etcetera."

After a series of taps, their careless amber eyes flicked between Ben and I. "Now, here's the fun part. Storytelling, who's going first? That question is rhetorical. Anna, start talking."

I refrained from curling in on myself and hiding my hands in shame. Elsa's presence was sucking the air out of me and weighing me down.

But I straightened my posture and folded my hands in my lap, "_12:19_, I was entering the smoking zone for a quick one—which I do not normally do on campus. Ben was in my preferred spot, so I sat next to him. He decided to engage in conversation, which I was in no mood for—"

"You're never in the mood for conversation Anna-banana", Payton interjected. Their comment is irrelevant.

"_Normally_ I would've ignored him, but my stress levels are—_were_ high today. The conversation turned into an argument, he said something critically offensive, and next thing you know I was beating the living shit out of him", I had put on a pretty good poker face. But I was no match for Elsa. I could feel Ben staring at me. Payton looked puzzled.

...

I wouldn't punch someone just because my feelings were hurt, but Payton doesn't know me that well. All he knows is that I rarely lift a finger.

...

What am I doing? I don't know, what the fuck do you think I'm doing?

The room was silent, but I fought the urge to make noise. I hate silence, it's disturbing. Payton finally cleared their throat. They looked puzzled, "That's—that's it?"

"Yes", that's all they need to know.

"Would you like to repeat the offensive statement—"

"No, I find it overly triggering."

I glanced at Ben from the corner of my eye. Hopefully he'll catch on and keep his mouth shut. Payton turned to face the asshole, "Alright then. Benjamin, do you find any omissions in Anna's story?"

"No", he muttered. I zoned out as he retold my story from his point of view. It was mandatory to have both sides, though my side holds more value due to my citizenship.

God I can fucking feel the shame coming off this boy. Ben had lowered his head, his sister was scowling at him with disappointment. The same way I fear Elsa will when all of this is over.

My heart dropped, but I refused to hang my head with it. Whatever she does to me, I deserve.

"Would you like to repeat the triggering statement?"

"I'm unable to recall", the only honest part of all of this, "head trauma."

Payton narrowed their eyes at both of us. After another moment of skin crawling silence they finally gave in. Payton sighed heavily, "Please take a moment to organize your thoughts and change your mind before finalizing said information. If you are withholding any details or evidence such as but are not limited to weaponry, time, audio/video files, location, participants, suspects, eyewitnesses, items associated with the crime, drugs, chemicals, or food; Please speak up now. If solid evidence is found that contradicts your statements, you will be charged for a federal crime. All information provided will be logged and permanently ingrained into the records, not that either of you will care but—I am obligated to tell you."

"I finalize the information provided", Ben sat up as straight as he could. The guy was still in very bad shape, he shouldn't be here right now. Neither should I actually, I lost a lot of blood. I'm running on fear and adrenaline right now.

I felt their eyes on me while I stared at the clock. I don't think there are any loose ends. No security guards or teachers were around to see the fight or the chase. Ben was obviously experienced in stealing shit during school hours because he used a route where the cameras are either defective or down. I haven't made any indication towards the pocket watch. There weren't many witnesses due to the very small population of teenage students with smoking permits—and even if there were, they would have cleared out before the violence started. Anything involving the authorities, the _43%_ try to avoid.

_**87% chance that all ends are secure**_. "I finalize my statement."

They nodded before typing another string of characters into the system. Ben and Celti reverted back to their argument, but Elsa had yet to say anything to me.

I don't think she's moved since she sat down. I'm too afraid to look. What if she's been staring at me the whole time?

"Well Benjamin, you got off extremely lucky this time. Another robbery and you would have been facing serious consequences in court—maybe even transferred to the Cube. Hopefully they'll only charge you with extra community service time", Payton trailed off with a yawn.

...

What is the Cube?

I'm not telling you.

Celti stood up, "Yes, I'm well aware of the possible outcomes of my brother's actions. We've been through the list before—is there anything else that's absolutely important?"

Payton swayed side to side in their office chair, "Well—would you like to press charges against Miss Jacobs?"

What, don't give them the fucking idea. I'll own up but I won't pay up. The shifting of fabric next to me made my hair stand on end. Elsa was shifting into her overprotective-sister-mode, which was never a good sign for the opposing party.

The lady readjusted her purse strap and shook her head, "No—I think Ben needed a good beating. Hopefully he'll learn from it." That and they would not win the case. The odds are stacked against them, despite me taking most of the blame.

"As lovely as the idea sounds, one can only dream", Payton added the new information into the system. Judging by their extra dead tone, this fuck up must have quite the record. She dragged Ben out of the chair by his arm. He groaned loudly and nearly dragged both of them to the ground. So weak.

Tick tock. Tick tock. This talk is taking too long.

They shambled out of the office after exchanging rushed apologies and goodbyes with us. I didn't bother listening, it held no importance to me.

"You look a little too relaxed Miss Jacobs, you better start clenching your ass cheeks", Payton stared me directly in the eyes.

I refrained from saying something as equally disgusting, "I think I prefer my cheeks relaxed, lets the shit pass easily." Alright, I failed. I can't help myself.

"Very true, plus if you clench you'd get a whole bunch of shit streaks on your cheeks", they may be unreliable but they're the only authority figure I can talk to like this—Elsa doesn't count at the moment.

She cleared her throat loudly, "Glad to see such a healthy relationship between a student and their counselor." She clearly was not amused.

My face was heating up with embarrassment. I'm starting to wish that they were bashing Ben's balls instead of my ovaries again.

Payton cleared their throat again, "As you already know Anna, you're a… special case. Honestly this whole ordeal highly contradicts your placid personality. But with all the stress you go through and your constant state of apathy, violent outbreaks would have been expected."

...

In other words, it's strange that I reacted how they expected me to react.

And placid? Are they fucking blind? I'm a fucking ball of rage. Not just my rage but the rage of historical tyrants and serial killers all the like. The vexation of holocaust survivors and the innocent wrongly accused. I have their thoughts and personality seared into my mind until they find a voice of their own and a spot in the community that is my mind.

They live in my head, judging everything through my optics in a storm of screams and whispers. But what if I'm just performing a ventriloquist act with these fragmented voices? Thinking up what Joan of Arc would say if she saw the world today, if she knew that I love my sister in such an incestuous way?

She'd burn me at the stake.

"You have had three other charges of violence on your academic record. Two of those were self-defense, the other was a fight you accepted equal responsibility for. That's incredibly low for someone of your status, therefore you won't receive as much of a punishment for your actions. Worst case scenario is they start monitoring you and readjust your medication. The most logical punishment would be extra community service", they sat up straight and folded their hands on the desk.

Extra community service for almost beating a guy to death? Such a merciful system to its children.

"However, I do have to notify your therapist about this recent outbreak."

"The fuck—why?" I sat up in my seat and gripped the edge of the chair. I could feel Elsa's eyes on me for the first time, and I don't appreciate the attention.

Payton looked a little sympathetic, "I understand that you're not exactly fond of therapists—or anyone in the psychiatric field. But all the information you've given me plus your studied behavior points towards pent up stress and lack of communication."

...

Yes, I know. It's not fair, but I'm just going to deal with it.

...

No, I'm not going to squeal, that's unnecessary.

...

Look—just shut the hell up right now. Every damn clock is going off in my head and I can't pick out my own line from the jumble of wires. I don't know how to respond—I don't know which thought is my own or some self-righteous Renaissance man's.

The only thing that's keeping me from lashing out is the ticking of old clock on the wall. Apparently I took too long to respond because Payton was starting to fidget, "I'm sorry Anna, if the evidence pointed towards Ben being at fault or at least mutual—"

"The possibilities are not important. I'm aware of my omissions and the reasoning behind whatever punishment I receive", my knuckles stung from gripping the chair too hard but I couldn't let go.

"Well... since that is out of the way. I would like to speak to your sister privately about my concerns", they pointed towards the door.

No. "I have the right to be present during any type of discussion involving my person", I refuse to leave you alone with her. There's nothing you need to say that I can't hear.

Payton didn't budge, "Anna, I understand that you're a bit peeved at the moment but—"

"I am _not_ moving", my voice wavered for a second. They didn't notice it but, I noticed it. Something isn't right. Maybe a glitch in my system?

"Anna, wait outside", my skin prickled.

My body moved faster than my fucking mind. Action before thought, "But Elsa—" I finally turned to face her, but her stare was like a knife to my throat.

Move. If you know what's good for you, you better get your ass out of that chair and out that door.

But I can't. I'm frozen in place by this odd sense of betrayal. Why?

I'm the one that betrays her, constantly.

Elsa wouldn't betray me.

I'm being irrational; over thinking to compensate these blanks she's leaving to fill.

I'm staring at the linoleum floor and a pair of worn out sneakers. Annoying laughter of student assistants and old people, printers, keyboards, telephones, fax machines, page flipping, papers being stapled—all these sounds are merging together.

Warping and following absolutely no sense of rhythm with a cadence that no human should have to ever endure.

I'm scared to look up—scared that my vision will be just as fucked up as my hearing. Because the scene before me is merely black and grey, and the world around me bathes itself in such obnoxious colors.

I don't know how I got out here, or how long I've been leaning against this disgusting carpet wall. This feels like another Assimilation session, but without the fun drugs/naked part. Instead this feeling makes me even more nauseous and slowly sets fire to my throat. I can feel myself fading away, retreating while someone else takes over.

...

Oh that's right. Elsa told me to wait outside while Payton whispers sweet nothings and tales of my incompetence in her ear.

...

Door creaking. Chuckling. Lips are moving but words are lost in the noise. Someone retreats, the other stays. Guards separate us, but it won't be for long.

Everything moves, turns and quakes faster than it can be captured. The cameraman needs to be replaced.

People are watching. Who are they watching? Shouldn't the protagonist have a name?

...

Me? Why me? What's my name?

Lips are moving but words are tossed into the wind. Numbers shift, doors open, objects are taken. The scene changes rapidly. Muted noise, washed out colors, people in the distance.

_Anna..._

That name sounds familiar. There's a voice but no lips behind it. But that's probably because the scene didn't change. The audio is out of sync.

_Anna._

Who? They sound patient, unnaturally so.

...

That's me? Oh. Yes, that's me. I'm Anna. Anna is a fragment of me. The Big Ben in this internal congregation of clocks.

I could actually feel my mind rebooting itself, hear my bones creaking as I turned my head her way.

And when my eyes meet hers, reality comes crashing down again and for once I wished she would go back to ignoring me. The adrenaline had worn out long ago, now I'm just held together by crappy tape and loose strings.

The school security had given back her jacket and electronics—probably patted her down twice on the way out. We were sitting in a car, but Elsa can't afford one. She must borrowed this from a friend. Elsa ruined our staring contest to turn on the ignition, "Spill."

What?

"What really happened?" She pulled out of the parking space and drove off school ground a little faster than the normal person would.

My stomach lurched. This is what I wanted to avoid, but I refuse to lie to her. I've already fucked up enough. I gripped my arm out of instinct, "I was searching my pockets for the right change at the vending machine. The chain on the pocket watch fell out while I was checking—but it was just for _3 seconds_ Elsa. _3 seconds_."

"Ben snatched the watch out my pocket by the chain, tried to knock me out, and took off. He didn't hit hard enough though, it only stalled me for _20 seconds_ before I ran after him. He steered us into the smoking area because it's normally abandoned. We fought, adrenaline kicked in, I gained the upper hand..." And I nearly killed him.

Elsa could figure out the rest on her own, there was no need to voice my failure. I crossed my arms over my chest and tucked my bandaged hands away. The pocket watch had the weight of my guilt engraved in it, "Kristoff pulled me off, I waited for security to come, and the rest was just routine."

We sat in silence, mind wracking silence. What was she going to say? Is she angry? Will there be lecturing? What is she going to fucking do?

"Sorry", I managed to croak out. I hate using that word. My speech became more frantic and pleading, "It wasn't—my intention I just..."

I'm torn between the bliss of ignorance and the dire need to know what the hell she's thinking.

"Fucked up terribly—as usual. I don't know why-" Yes I do. I was afraid he'd take her away from me. That hunk of old metal and chipped glass became my own safety blanket whenever Elsa was too far away for my liking.

The rest of my words were broken down to one heavy breath. I rested my head against the window in hopes that the cold will numb me. But it doesn't, it catalyzes the backwards reaction of my mind. Everything feels tight and itchy, like this body is too small for all of my faults. I scratched lazily at my arm, but there wasn't enough comfort for me.

She finally saves me from the silence, only to throw me into another fit of anxiety. "Let me see the watch."

No, please no. It's dirty. I made it dirty, you shouldn't touch it.

Elsa glanced at me from the corner of her eye.

Don't question her. I fished the watch out of my pocket and dropped it in her hand reluctantly.

Whatever she was going to do with it, I won't know. I can't bear looking in her direction anymore, I feel unworthy. The car stopped at a red light, and the sound of a compartment opening made my heart drop.

Chain jingling, rustling, compartment closes.

I'm dizzy, exhausted, emotionally unhinged, cold, and thrown completely off schedule. I don't know what to do or how to act because everything has been altered and thrown off course because of some unhealthy obsession. I'm falling apart in the passenger's seat of some stranger's car.

The car stopped again, we were in the parking lot of some convenient store. Why? I don't know, and I don't care. I have had enough shit for today.

"Obviously I don't have to tell you what you did was completely unacceptable; regardless of your mental health or Ben's actions", her voice sucked the air out of my lungs and made my mouth dry. Elsa gave no clues towards her emotions. Or maybe it only seems that way because I refuse to look.

The shifting of fabric had set warning bells off in my head. Whatever she does, I can't complain.

That burning comfort was gone. Why'd it stop? Instead it was cold and stung like hell.

I barely registered Elsa's hand curled around my wrist, and the fact that she took her gloves off just to stop me from destroying my skin.

Red angry lines decorated the inside of my forearm. But they were nothing compared to the cut I got during my last Assimilation session. It had scabbed over, but I caused some minor bleeding during all the scratching.

Oops.

"But your actions were justified. I understand that you didn't mean to take things so far. And Ben shouldn't have tried to rob you to begin with", her voice softened.

I swallowed back my frustration. What should I say? What should I do?

My internal clock is so thrown off, I can't tell how long it took me to respond and when I should have. She squeezed reassuringly, "Anna..."

Don't say my name, not like that. I stared out the window, but the scenery didn't help at all. Why are you so damn...? I don't even know what you are. But it's driving me insane.

Her love and concern takes up the space around us, "I'm not disappointed..."

Liar, liar.

No matter how much I try to rebel, my body responds to her will more than my own. Everything I've been trying so hard to keep together starts crumbling around me, "Sure, you aren't."

"I swear I'm not—"

"_Why though?_" I sound desperate, too hostile for my liking. Our eyes locked as soon I turned to face her, and I've never regretted something so much in my life. She stares with so much regard and compassion it makes me feel uncomfortable and out of place, "Elsa—I lost control. I fucking mutilated that guy."

"Because you acknowledged your mistakes and took responsibility—maybe more than enough responsibility for what you did." Then how come I feel like it's not enough? My gaze found its way towards the floor,

Her tone remained firm and soothing, "You could have just as easily ran away, or even told the truth. But you took the other person's point of view into consideration—regardless of their actions. You did what you thought was best, I'm not disappointed at all..."

For some reason I can't accept that. This time I can't accept her kindness so easily. Zany voice was cracking, "I dragged you away from your life because I lost my shit..."

"I said I'd drop everything for you."

Hot tears threatened to fall as my frustration grew, "You shouldn't fucking have to though. I'm 16, not some stupid kid at the park with no one to play with anymore—"

"You're my sister and even if I don't have to,_ I will_. Those playground bullies don't just disappear, they grow up with you. They evolve and find new ways hurt you. And as long as I fucking breath I'll be around to kick every last one of their teeth in if they try."

_Because you're my sister I'm dying inside. _I want to scream it in her ear.

She released my wrist, "but if it makes you feel less annoyed, I am upset with you."

I sat up as straight as I could and looked at her nervously, "w-what, why?"

Elsa had unbuckled her seat belt and slid her jacket off. Before I could protest she already drapes it over my shoulders, there's this pensive pause before she drags me closer by the collar. Close enough that I can easily close the distance between us with my incestuous desires.

And now I'm fucking terrified, because there's nowhere for me to hide. I have no choice but to drown in her concern and exasperation. She looks like she's stuck between giving me another black eye and squeezing the shit out of me.

What the hell did Payton tell you? How much did they say? How much did they _know_?

Elsa finally managed to chalk up a response. And now I realize hurt she is, "Because you won't fucking take care of yourself."

Oh god, I fucked up. I offended her.

"Why didn't you tell me you were stressing out? Or even—about this? Especially this! Of all things!" She released one side of the collar and gestured at my scratched up arm.

My mouth opened and closed like a fish. I'm not used to her being upset. Everything crumbles, those tears fall free and I say the stupidest thing I can even fathom to her, "I didn't think it would matter that much, it's nothing—"

"You didn't—Anna your entire _fucking being _matters to me", I flinched as her voice became louder, emotional. Elsa was gripping the collar so hard her knuckles were white, "Everything I do, I do so I can stay in Arendelle with you. And that will all go to shit if you keep bottling everything up and hiding—from _me_. Of all people Anna, _me_."

I bottle everything up, to keep _you_ from leaving _me_. You have no fucking idea what's going on in my sick head. I scrounged up the courage to look her in the eyes.

Elsa does a much better job at keeping her composure than I do, but I can still tell that her eyes are watery in the darkness. She's tired, I'm tired. My shit is the last thing Elsa need right now yet I keep throwing it at her because I'm too much of an ass to deal with it on my own.

"I'm sorry", is all I manage to choke out. I'm sorry for a lot of things, but I can't exactly pinpoint what. Everything is just one big blur, "I'm sorry."

Her eyes are searching mine, and I'm afraid that she'll find something I don't want her to see. Elsa finally lets me go and I slump back in my seat.

Now it's impossible to take my eyes off her. She's staring out the window, with her lazily clamped over her mouth and her elbow propped against the door. She was trying to school her emotions, but the rise and fall of her chest told me she wasn't doing very well.

_I fucked up—again. In more ways than one._

Tears were still rolling down my face, but I didn't have enough motivation to wipe them. Why am I such a fucking crybaby?

Elsa pulled the watch out of her pocket and allowed it to hang by it chain. The blood smudges from before were gone, "Honestly, I'm surprised you got so riled up over this hunk of metal."

Somehow, I know not how, but I still had the fucking ability to blush. Embarrassment managed to sneak its way into my emotional rave. I couldn't get any words out between my sniffling.

Elsa took the end of the chain and clasped it to the small loop where it began. Luckily, it's a long chain. "Here", she muttered before slipping it over my head.

Why are you giving this back to me? Stop being nice.

"S'called a pocket watch for a reason", really? That's all you can manage to say? After she finds you worthy enough to even keep the watch all you can do is bitch about it.

"It's a lot harder to steal a necklace, you ass", Elsa carefully wiped away some of my tears and secured the jacket around my shoulders.

I don't have the mental capability of arguing right now, but she's probably right anyway. I want to say thank you, but everything I think of translated into an apology of some sort. It didn't matter though, I don't have the time to react.

"I'm going to get something for your arm, alright?" She patted my shoulder before slinking out of the car and into the cold parking lot.

...

Fucking hell, you're still here. Just go away...

...

A tragic hero?

No anon, we've discussed this before. I may be broken and flawed beyond belief. But there is no way that hero could describe me.

Elsa's the tragic hero. Just call me Judas, or the antagonist of this play.

* * *

**Just to clear up any confusion, the story is being told from Anna's P.O.V. As she goes on about her life, she converses with this strange voice (the readee) inside her head. A normal person would be freaked out by this strange development, but Anna treats the voice as just another addition to her abused mind. She eventually begins to confide and find companionship with this strange entity. There will be certain chapters in the story where Elsa's P.O.V is being told, but she won't hear a voice.**

**So, aha... yeah. Here ya go, sorry for the hiatus ;-; This chapter was actually a little hard to write. Hope it was worth the wait.**


	6. Stolen Time

_16:47, Friday, December 3, 2021. __Arendelle, Norway._

_You are: __**Anna Jacobs**_

_Mood: __**Apathetic**_

* * *

Oreochromis aureus,_ 9.12 kg_. Allium cepa var. aggregatum, _29.54 ml_. Citrus aurantiifolia, skin,_ 9.84 ml_. Citrus aurantiifolia, fluid, _19.9 ml_. Sodium chloride, _4.53 ml_. Allium schoenoprasum,_ 6.34 kg_. Piper nigrum, _3.17 ml_. Allium sativum, _2.70 kg_.

...

What? I'm cooking.

...

Yes, legitimately. Why the hell does my ability to cook surprise people?

It's just tilapia with some seasoning anon. I have string beans simmering on the back burner, while the potatoes finish roasting on the other. I'm not poisoning anyone.

...

Because... I'm hungry? Your expectations of me are rather vague.

…

Shut up, I like chives.

"Anna you're missing it!"

I rolled my eyes, "I can hear the television from here, dick lick." The news is on. The Prime Minister is delivering another useless speech about introducing weather control and the actions they would take towards operating that plan if permission was given.

After the fucking cabinet wasted _12,917 seconds_ of my life by pulling me into a conference meeting for my advice, they ignore my opposition completely.

There is _**30% chance of that plan being executed successfully**_, yet they pushed on anyway.

...

No, it's not that we're technologically incapable. It's the politics and expenses of it all. The theory has been explored and put into practice various times. It was first experimented in the 1950's by Wilhelm Reich in the form of cloud busting. God I hated having him carved into my brain. There is only so much psychological droning I can take before I glitch.

_10:45, 1977, May 18. The use of weather modification was addressed and signed in the United Nations General Assembly Resolution 31/72, TIAS 9614 Convention on the Prohibition of Military or Any Other Hostile Use of Environmental Modification Techniques; Enforced 1978, October 5; Ratified by President Jimmy—shit._

The world swayed, and somehow the wooden spoon I was holding ended up in the pan with the fish. Better than the floor. I gripped the counter and tried to regulate my breathing.

...

No I'm not fucking okay. Stop making me ramble.

...

The hell do you mean—look, bills had been proposed by the U.S. in _2007_ to invest funds into weather modification research. Surprisingly they were passed. Suddenly research facilities were sprouting in every country that can afford them. This caused suspicion amongst the UN, cold wars were formed, which lead to the practice of geoengineering and nearly WWIII—it was short lived.

_2010, Thursday April 6._ Research in weather modification was permanently banned and tucked into the UN's Pandora box right next to the Atomic Bomb.

Illegal aliens flooding the country from the south while hysteria and new viruses and flooding push down on us from the north; funds disappearing into black holes, tension between world powers, and dysfunction within the nation's economy—_no one can afford another world war. _

But as if that will stop those pretentious old men from slapping on some 18th century armor and polishing their fucking carbines.

I turned the stove top off and fixed two plates before trudging into the living room. This was no one's home in particular, just a small apartment McFuckburns rented out so he didn't have to deal with his brothers. It's close enough to where the _43%_ live that no one catches us, but not close enough for someone to try and break in.

So it became the headquarters for our circle of people to do whatever they can't do at home. Sex, alcohol, smoke—the stereotypical activities depicted in the media as edgy youth.

...

I don't do alcohol remember.

...

Am I a virgin? No.

...

Why are you interested in my sex life?

...

Well, I guess the fact I have a sex life is shocking to a certain degree. Regardless, discussing the topic is far from appropriate.

"Here", I handed Kristoff one of the plates of food before settling on the couch. The Prime Minister was still giving his bogus speech. God I hope the citizens have enough sense to reject this plan.

Kristoff beamed at me, "Thanks Anna."

McFuckburns gave me a look, "where's my plate?"

"In the cabinet, with all the other plates", I'm not your fucking maid. He rolled his eyes and muttered something about manners. We listened intently until the speech was over and filler news came on—at least they did. I'm interested in the crisis in the North District and the current sway of government, not some powder keg.

That affects the _43%_ the most. The severity of Elsa's job depends on the actions.

McFuckburns scowled as he scrolled through forums on his tablet, "That's a risky political move they're pulling."

"Something I specifically told them not to do", their diction was terrible as well. What's the point of my extensive suffering if they won't at least consider what I have to say? _What the fuck do they gain from my mental destruction?_

He hummed, "For once, I fully agree with you. It's a shame when a country rests upon the shoulders of fools. Hopefully the situation will be handled with minimal damage."

Kristoff shrugged, he was more concerned with scraping the last of food into his mouth. I rolled my eyes, "There's more on the stove." It's nice to see someone enjoy my cooking.

He gave me this innocent look, "but Hans didn't get his share"

"Don't worry about it. She somehow manages to cook it _exactly _the same anyway, tired of it", McFuckburns muttered. Good, keep your grubby fingers out of my food. Recreating a dish takes fucking skill.

...

Is it my favorite? No.

...

Then why do I replicate it? _Recreate_ anon, recreate. It's impossible to replicate a dish to the exact gram with the tools I've been provided. Nor do I have the patience for such a task. Besides, that information is unnecessary.

"Your loss", Kristoff finally stood up and maneuvered around the couch.

McFuckburns rolled his shoulders stiffly and coughed. Kristoff came back shortly after. We sat in silence as the fillers wasted our time—or at least tried to. McFuckburns squirmed and made noises every _47 seconds_. I gave him a look, "The hell is your damage?" I did not word that properly.

He blinked a couple of times before staring at me blankly. We are fairly used to each other's shit, "Oh I'm sorry, do my sore muscles and congested esophagus make you uncomfortable?"

Kristoff glanced between us nervously.

There are grammatical and anatomical flaws in that statement. I shrugged, "Frankly speaking, your existence in its entirety harrows me but that's beside the point. You're browsing the political forums right? You cringed, what are they discussing?"

...

What? I can't be curious?

"Oh", his guard dropped, "There was a half-specter found beaten to death in an alleyway off of Kings Street. The eyewitnesses are posting about this under anonymous. Apparently two officers pulled the man aside to ask a few questions. They refuse to talk to the police department."

"Of course the news fucking withheld from reporting this", Kristoff muttered under his breath. I'm too disgusted to speak right now. Bile was climbing up my throat as I fiddled with the watch around my neck.

_What if it was Elsa?_

McFuckburns continued to scroll through the forum, "A bunch of bigoted "veterans" from the Great Thaw and the Pilgrimage on this forum. I'm going to check another poll."

_That could have been Elsa._

"Anna."

I side glanced at Kristoff. His stare made me cringe for some reason, "Check on her."

_Do I really look that pathetic?_

I don't want to bother her. Elsa could be working right now, or taking her nap. Why would she want her annoying baby sister buzzing in her ear after a long day?

_Or she could be walking home right now, exhausted from labor too mediocre for her potential. Too tired to put up a fight._

_**You**_**: Where are you?**

What lasted only _3 seconds_ felt like fucking forever—in that gross romantic cliché way.

_**Elsa**_**: I'm fine. At home**

Good... good. She's safe.

"Is she at home?" What? I looked up. Kristoff and McFuckburns were staring intently. I don't trust myself to talk, so I merely nodded. Relief washed over their faces.

...

McFuckburns and Elsa were in the same grade for a while. They're "friends" apparently. The fact that Elsa would be upset is the only reason why I haven't sent him to a plastic surgeon yet, and vice versa. It doesn't stop us from verbally assaulting each other though.

Kristoff met Elsa through me. Despite what you might think, it takes a lot for Kristoff to give a shit. So I take bit of pride in knowing that Elsa grew on him.

_**Elsa: **_**Did you eat yet?**

_**You: **_**Yeah.**

_**Elsa**_**: ****An actual meal**

_**You**_**: Yes, an actual meal. Would you like a picture?**

I pursed my lips and deleted the second half of the message before sending. Elsa checks up on me more often. Not that I mind the sentiment—the speech pattern is similar to Idunn's sometimes, which is a little off putting.

_**Elsa**_**: ****Good**

I fucking hate eating, just hook me up to an IV and call it a day.

_**You**_**: ****So-**

Wait, why'd I send that!? It's too late to delete it now. My heart stopped as the message finished sending and was immediately marked as read.

Christ.

_**Elsa**_**: Hm?**

It's too late now, she's expecting you. My embarrassment grew as I quickly typed another message. I don't understand how something can cause so much anxiety.

_**You**_**: How was your day? **

_Really? That's how you talk to your sister? God Anna, what the hell. You sound so stiff._ I'm trying okay? I'm fucking trying.

The news is back on. Kristoff sneered at the screen as they showed live footage of Trondheim, the only remaining city behind the line of civility—if you can call it a city.

…

Why?

It only survived because the Prime Minister created a program to have the wharfs transformed into floating homes as a precaution for rising sea levels. After the success, he then had another program passed to mess with the rest of the town.

_**Elsa**_**: It was pretty calm. I got to sleep in and unwind. Community service wasn't that bad either**

_**You**_**: Good, you need time off.**

The problem was many people left Trondheim in the midst of its reconstruction to live elsewhere. They could not easily rebuild the university and other large scaled buildings with a floating foundation, many were left alone.

Many other towns and cities protested against the bill after witnessing the horrible aftermath that was "The Floating City". Major changes weren't attempted after that, instead a policy was created. Any housing or building constructed after _2000_ had to have a floating foundation.

…

Yes, half of Arendelle is floating. A few towns were transformed along with Trondheim as trials. The thing was, Arendelle was falling apart anyway. So nobody here cared as much about the renovation. The half that doesn't float is where the most of the _43%_ live. The businesses and homes were perched on the mountain side, which kept them safe during the Great Thaw.

_**Elsa**_**: Like hell I do. I actually had to use epsom salt Anna**

_**Elsa**_**: EPSOM SALT**

But anyway, Trondheim is used as a base for the military beyond the civility line—mainly for Regulation Scouts and Enforcers. A lot of specters have taken residence in that city, which makes it a powder keg for all sorts of trouble.

_**You**_**: Face it, you're getting old.**

The camera panned in on about 7 specters on the rooftop of an abandoned building. A barrel is on fire while they try to break down the door to the lower levels. You can barely see them against the heavy snowfall.

"How the hell did they even get up there? The first four floors are under water", Kristoff squinted his eyes. Water too impure to freeze. The journalist hasn't said anything useful yet.

McFuckburns muttered, "There's a few wooden planks connecting it to another apartment building somewhere—see? Right there." Sometimes they even scale the side of buildings and break into windows. Anything to get away from the harsh air and sleet.

_**Elsa**_**: You're so uplifting**

The camera focused on the rotten porches of wharfs and disgruntled specters peeking out of frosted windows and dingy curtains. They're waiting for the chopper to go away.

**_You_: 3**

**_Elsa_: */3**

**_You_: Why you gotta sever my cat phallus like that?**

**_Elsa_: tf**

**_You_: Need I explain the resemblance?**

**_Elsa_: N o. Your explanation, I need not-**

**_Elsa_: Again.**

I smiled stupidly and toyed with the pocket watch.

...

Do you really want me to explain? Because Elsa and I spent _3 hours_ debating over my crass interpretation of this heart emoji, I don't think you want to open that door. Besides, it's pretty simple if you look at it.

We all focused on the screen as the news anchor finally got to the useful part of his bit. My blood began to boil.

"Specter extremists become more restless as the winter rolls in. Troops stationed in Trondheim have grown anxious due to their unusual migration towards the base. The cabinet fears that the specters will continue moving southward, and eventually pile up along the civility line. To prevent further development, the Chief of Defense will be sending squads of regulation scouts to alleviate the area."

What—why wasn't I notified about this beforehand!? That is a federal decision, they're supposed to call me in for those types of issues.

"Operations will be effective December 5th. End time is inconclusive."

No. Why didn't they call me in?

_**You**_**: Elsa**

_**Elsa**_**: I know, I'm watching**

The edges of the pocket watch were digging into my skin. Please no.

_**You**_**: Squadrons work in shifts right? So you'll be home before the month is out.**

_**Elsa**_**: That's the thing. I just finished my shift two days ago**

This isn't fair. Nothing is ever fucking fair.

"Alleviate", Kristoff sneered. He was just as disgusted as I was—or at least what I should be. Angry? Upset?

I don't know, something is wrong. Maybe I reached that critical point. Where the pain is there, but you can't register it anymore. Either you've been exposed to it too long, or it dropped on you like an atomic bomb. And all that's left is your shadow on the concrete.

McFuckburns remained silent. When it comes to issues revolving around the civility line, he never has much to say. I guess that's because the last time he said something we both broke a few bones. I got the brunt of it all but he was still shaken up afterwards.

Elsa was so disappointed.

...

Let's just say he's a fucking chicken shit. I'd rather not get into it right now.

I tapped a little too hard against the screen, but deleted the message right afterwards. It wouldn't fit the conversation. It seems too insensitive. I don't know what to say.

_**You**_**: There has to be somethi**

Delete.

_**You**_**: Maybe you can**

Delete.

**_You_: It's**

Delete. **Delete.**_** Delete.**_

The journalist didn't have anything else useful to say. Just constant reassurance that what they were doing was right with poor statistics and irrelevant name drops.

_It's going to be okay._

It's not okay, it's never okay. Someone always gets the short end of stick. This time it's a little too short.

McFuckburns was staring at the screen with contempt, "You know, Hiccup isn't wrong."

...

_Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III, 20 years old._

_He is of the male sex._

_And he's a prodigy in biomechanical engineering._

...

That's not a thing? Maybe not in your world anon.

...

I'm not explaining this right now. He's a cool guy though.

Kristoff sat up, he was becoming nervous. It's a topic that we only talk about here. Anywhere else, and we'd have the FBI up our asses.

I sighed, "Not this shit again." I can't argue with him right now.

"I'm serious Anna. We either deal with this now, or end up cleaning up our parents' shit in the future with the little funds we'll have left when they're dead", McFuckburns said.

My head is throbbing, I still haven't replied yet. I don't think I want to.

_You should. You need to. That's so impolite Anna. What type of person are you? She's your sister_—Shut up.

He kept talking, "We have an amazing foundation to start something. Everyone in our clique is going to play some key part in society in the next 2 years."

I sighed, "Only in 3 fields Hans. Economics, the military, and the medical field."

"But that's the thing. Norway relies heavily on the back of our military and medical advancements. The only reason why we're so wealthy is because of how our well our economy used to run", he's getting excited. Kristoff scooted closer to me.

I narrowed my eyes, "There's a lot more to this country than drugs, guns, and iheritance."

"That's where we come in. Besides, we can recruit other place holders. Future legislators, executives, scientists, enforcers—our peers that are destined to enter government units. Persuade them into joining our cause. If we start influencing future voters now—"

His words became ambience, I've heard it all before. It's the same song sung in a thousand different languages, from a million different faces. It's the ballad of rebellion, and the final verse isn't always pleasant. It often makes things worse than they already are.

Kristoff listens every time, with this apprehensive look on his face. But no matter how much McFuckburns tries to sway him, Kristoff only follows me.

...

Honestly, I don't know why. I've never cared enough to ask.

"—you already have influence over the cabinet Anna. They gave you this job specifically to guide them. We can do this, everything is stacked in our favor."

No, it _looks_ like everything is. It's the lack of insurance that leaves me against the idea. Because history repeats and luck doesn't fucking exist. We can _break_ our nation if things go to shit.

_**Elsa**_**: At least I don't have to leave immediately**

This was supposed to be our month together. We had everything planned out.

"Sorry to burst your bubble", I stood up and grabbed the dishes off the coffee table, "But this isn't a fucking dystopian novel for the youth. Some hopeful speech isn't going to persuade me into turning an entire country upside down. Have you sat down and thoroughly thought this out? Have you and the others considered the faults and possible outcomes of a revolution? The casualties? The funds?"

_**You**_**: That's not a bright side.**

_**Elsa**_**: I know**

McFuckburns frowned. No, he hasn't. They haven't. They haven't gotten past trying to gain my approval. Why do they need my approval? I don't even know who I am.

I held up my hand, silencing him before he can go on another rant, "Don't. I have somewhere else to be. I've already dealt with enough politicians for the week." I shuffled into the kitchen and washed the plates.

…

What is my job?

Why do I have to explain? At this point it should be self-explanatory. You've proven to have basic observation skills anon. You should be able to figure it out.

…

Alright, let me give you a hint. Have you ever read The Giver? If not, please do. It's a great book and incredibly easy to read—well, maybe not for someone like you.

When I came back, Kristoff had changed the channel to some cartoon and Hans receded back to his world of forums.

_**You**_**: We can do something special next week. Mom is probably planning something as we speak.**

_**Elsa**_**: How about after I come back. That way I'll have something to look forward to**

_**Elsa**_**: For now, let's just keep things normal. Just you and me by the waterfront**

I don't know why, or _how_—but she managed to scrape up some of my remains after that atomic bomb. A dull throb had taken residence where my heart should be.

_**You**_**: Hey, Whatever you want. Just say the word.**

_**You**_**: It's your month after all**

"I have an appointment to get to." With that god forsaken therapist. It starts in an _hour_, but it takes _30 minutes_ to get there. And I need time to dick around.

I picked my bag off the floor and fumbled with my sneakers. Kristoff perked up for some reason, "Want me to walk with you? O-only if you want me to. Because it's rough out there. And you could use someone for... backup... and shit..."

McFuckburns stopped licking his wounded ego long enough to snort, "Smooth one meat brain."

Grammatical redundancy and biological inaccuracy. God I need to get out of here. Kristoff winced, his face was turning red. His poor attempt didn't stop him from giving me puppy dog eyes.

If my day was running as smoothly as before, then maybe—_just maybe_ I would have let him tag along. We would have talked, maybe bumped into something weird... Even bought a few snacks.

But a lot of things won't happen today, tomorrow, or even three weeks from now. Because things are out of our control.

So he'll stay here. The same fucking way a stupidly wrapped box with a little blue bow will remain in my closet. Collecting dust until the perfect opportunity strikes again.

_**Elsa**_**: Nothing special**

_**You**_**: But you're special, so you deserve something special.**

Who's talking right now? Those words flowed too easily. There aren't any flickers of doubt or embarrassment, so it can't be me. Am I on auto pilot? Maybe my circuit is still shot and I can't comprehend my anxiety.

_**Elsa**_**: Exactly why I only want to spend time with you 3**

_**You**_**: Cat phallus**

Now that sounds like something I'd say.

_**Elsa**_**: Sh, accept it**

_**You**_**: But what the hell am I supposed to do with a cat phallus?**

_**Elsa**_**: Accept my affection erection you ass**

_**You**_**: Geez Elsa, you can't just force it.**

_**Elsa**_**: What?**

_**You**_**: You gotta prep me first.**

_**Elsa**_**: you're so goddamn mature someone give this girl a smiley sticker**

"Anna?" Huh, what the hell are they gawking at? I know I'm gross but that's just rude. Oh wait, I must be smiling.

Yeah, I feel it now. I'm smiling. Kristoff has gained this hopeful look in his eye, but the fuckface knew. He always knows. That's the only reason why he looks so smug.

I shoved my phone in my pocket and grabbed my oxygen mask off the rack. My crooked smile fell, "McFuckburns needs protection more than I do."

I left before they could get another word in. I don't need them messing up my schedule.

...

What am I thinking about? Well, what are you thinking about anon? Obviously you have the ability to think; though not far enough to figure out the answers to your own goddamn questions.

…

That's—that's something I don't have the answer to.

…

Because I don't need to know, and neither do you.

…

I'm a chicken? That's really fucking mature anon. Calling people poultry will always take you far in life.

...

Just drop the subject, _please?_

…

Thank you.

* * *

**Happiness? What's that? Sounds like an STD. No but seriously, there will be some good times between the sisters soon... just not now. This chapter was a little hard to write, and appears short. But I hope it was worth while. Next chapter will be a change of pace. Thank you guys for such awesome reviews and following along! I really appreciate the support. ^_^**


	7. Elsa's Monday

**A/N: This is not a normal thing for me to do but it feels appropriate for this update, Trigger Warnings at the end of the chapter for those who watch them. If needed, just scroll down really fast then come back up for the main content.**

* * *

_2:24, Monday, December 20, 2021. Trondheim, Norway._

_You are: __**Elsa Foss**_

_Mood: __**Awe**_

* * *

The concept of memory fascinates me. It only takes a glance for someone to create a profile of you. Even if they don't know it, they've subconsciously created a personality and name for you based on looks alone. That image changes every second, another layer saved on top of the old. It may look a little angrier or even a bit taller, but it's different.

It's new.

It's mind blowing. There are over a thousand different versions of yourself walking around, living in another person's head. Some are good, some are bad. Weak, strong, kind, spiteful, inspiring, annoying—the list can go on forever.

But there are some images you can't change, corrupted files and limited storage space. No matter how hard you try and find the opportunity, it just a won't go away.

_Traitor._

"World jumping, yeah?"

What? Oh. I pulled the under armor over my head and smoothed it down with a smile, "Yeah, sorry."

Havard smiled back and continued assembling his semi-automatic. It's been awhile since we've been in the same unit. Petra and Johan have been fighting for the past hour. It's never a good sign when the party hosts fight.

Normally, we're not allowed to assemble our weapons outside of the docking area either. No one else has a gun out, just the five of us.

Baelfire sat next to Havard, he's already in uniform. It's strange how much our light hair sticks out against our clothes. "What's good?"

Bulletproof vest.

Armored gloves.

Thermal jacket.

Havard and I shared a look before shrugging. There wasn't much to be optimistic about. "We're alive", I said.

"We have things to look forward to", Havard inspected the gun before turning the safety on and setting it aside. Baelfire glanced between us. He's not as good at hiding his unease, "We're on the safe side of the gun."

Duty belt.

Utility suspenders.

Arm guards.

I made sure my holsters were secure and started loading up with equipment. Tear gas, jammers, flares, a flashlight, basic first aid, trackers, a small backup radio, a lighter, tripwires, combat knife... shock rods... clips...

Havard leaned over and planted a kiss against his temple. Baelfire sputtered and swatted him away, "Havard!"

"There's no safe side, not even when you're behind the butt of a gun", he said. Baelfire nodded, despite the red in his cheeks. It seems kind of odd though, that the Chief would place three of us in the same squadron. Normally the system would make sure the half-specters didn't know each other, or there would be more citizens than civilians.

I wonder what Anna is up to. She's probably awake right now, doing whatever Anna does at 2:19. I hope she's okay.

"Looks like you really have someone to look forward to."

Wait what? Bae wiggled his brows, with that stupid smile on his face. I don't get it, did I do something? Havard was making a stupid face too, "You're smiling."

Bae shifted to edge of the bed and grinned, "Who's the lucky person?"

Oh, I guess I am smiling. I don't think she's very lucky though.

"What type of question is that? You know she only lives for her Anna", Havard rolled his eyes. He constantly pesters me about finding someone dependable. I rolled my eyes, "She's not my Anna."

"_Your_ kid sister, named _Anna_.", Havard said as he slid his gloves on. Baelfire punched his shoulder for me, "How is she by the way?"

I'd love to know that myself. I haven't been able to check up on her as frequently, and even when I get the chance it feels like she's hiding from me. Instead she deflects the conversation, asking how I'm doing up here and if I found any trinkets to pawn. We've only been able to talk like... twice, but still.

Am I doing something wrong? Too close? Too far?

"She's been alright, I just hope she doesn't stress herself out over me." Mom had even used a call. It was... strange.

"Why wouldn't she be? Anna loves you, you make her happy. If my sister was drafted, I'd probably start a coup", Bae muttered the last part. We don't want to raise suspicion.

I laughed nervously, "I wouldn't say happy..." She's isolated. I see her through the mass of people I'll never meet, but I can't hold her.

Havard was about to say something, but Petra marched over. Her face was splotchy with anger, "What are you three doing? It's 2:28. Bite a bullet and tap in."

But they hadn't called our squad yet, we don't dispatch until 2:40. We all shared a quick glance before marching out. It feels weird. These walls were built for scholars, not dogs. Johan glanced back at us before whispering something to Petra. Scouts and enforcers stepped aside as we strode down halls to the docks.

I remember when I was like eight, and Mr. Jacobs would change to the spike channel after 19:00. There were a ton of action movies with this one scene. Where the guy with the gun would kick open the double doors and start shooting the place up. Or he'd have his teammates open the doors and he'd just walk in all condescending and shit. The directors always chose to slow things down in those scenes, but why?

So they can capture the moment? Show just how intense and cool looking it is to shoot up a room, whether the victims were armed or not?

I don't feel cool, or a rush.

The double doors slammed behind us, we filed up at the security desk to log in. It's a weird system. They activate this reflective screen and it scans your irises to identify you. The information gets processed and logs your time in and out on the roster. At the same time it reads your chemical balance and calculates the amount of solution needed to temporarily neutralizes the effects of the drug they give us when we first register in the base.

Anna says it's immoral, to constantly pump such concentrated doses in our veins. But what can we do? We don't have any influence.

What's irritating though, is the way we have to inject that stuff. It's like those high tech vacutainer things, but it work backwards. You bite down on the outer shell of the syringe, which shoots seven needles into the retromolar trigone. Those needles are thick. _And it hurts like a bitch. _

The enforcer discarded the outer shell afterwards and pushed a command strip and a mask under the wall.

That's the only "cool" part about the job, the mask and command strip. It's black tinted polycarbonate, featureless and cushioned on the inside with a built in oxygen filter, intercom, and monitor. The mask stretches around to cover the ears and uses the chin as a hinge. It always reminded me of that guy's helmet from... Daft Punk? Yeah, daft punk. Bae plays it sometimes over our inter-com. They're okay.

I slid the command strip into the slot on my arm guard and locked it. To anyone else it looks like a flimsy sheet of metal, but it's really the most important piece of equipment in this ensemble. The computer. If you look at it through the mask, a mini map is displayed on the strip along with your field orders and your teammates' heart rates.

Havard filed into the inflatable boat last, which meant he was on motor duty. Johan gave him the signal, and we were off.

"Coordinates of waypoint set. 1600 meters east, 500 meters north. There should be an opening located on the right side of the building", Baelfire's voice was loud and clear over the intercom. The funny thing about command strips is that you can't see your teammate's. They can have a completely different field order. You could be their field order.

The ride could have been more enjoyable if I didn't feel eyes on me through the darkness. I should probably turn the night vision on now, but it's just... nicer without it.

Havard nearly missed the hole in the wall and crashed into the building. Johan snapped, he almost cracked his skull against the bricks, "What the fuck Christianson!? Get your head out your ass."

"Oh stop being a baby, you're fine Johan", Petra's voice was deeper over the intercom. It's weird not being able to look at their faces. The room looked like it could have been an office, or a reception area. The floor looked pretty sturdy, even though half of it is under water and broken. I got out of the boat first and dragged it onto "land" as soon as the others followed.

Baelfire cleared a space on one of the crappy desk and started setting up the hub—or his baby. He's our navigator, and takes a little too much pride in finding shortcuts and special routes for us to squeeze into.

"RS-122, calibrate", Bae ordered. Nine red dots appeared on the screen, I stared at each one for three seconds. Calibration was finished, the monitor and my movements were in better sync.

"RS-537, calibrate."

"E-034, calibrate."

"E-435, calibrate."

Johan and Petra were silent. They were probably conspiring on a private channel. I couldn't see his expression, but I could tell Havard was growing anxious. We wanted to finish our run before the day was over, but our prefects had to give the orders.

"Fall in. 3:06, 2021-12-20. Norway, Trondheim, building 1045. Objective, clear the area. Shoot down anyone who is hostile. Peaceful resistance will be dealt with shock rods. Do not sympathize with the apparitions. Do not neglect your field orders. Or else punishment will be distributed generously", Johan spoke slowly but loud, just to get around his thick accent. It felt like he was talking specifically to me.

I don't care though. Petra wrapped up the briefing, "RS-122 and 573 will clear out block C. E-435 and I will clear block A. RS-639 will remain at waypoint in block A as rear guard."

Why are we paired together? This isn't right. I glanced at Havard through the corner of my eye, even if his face was hidden. Thank god for these masks.

"Do you accept these terms?"

"Affirmative."

"Disperse."

Johan and Petra took the left. Havard and I took the right exit, which lead to the emergency stairs. Apparently this is the third floor. We have to run up six flights before we get to the roof. A notification popped up in the corner of my vision.

_**Private Channel ENTERED**_

_\- RS-573_

_\- YOU_

"This place is off putting", he muttered. The stairs are slippery and frosted. I'm half a flight ahead of him. I checked my arm guard. My field order is still inconclusive. It's illegal to tell it to others.

**RS-639: **_**T-2**__. There's a makeshift board bridge on the 5th floor._

He announced it in the main channel. The ordinance popped up on my screen. I sighed, "Bae's the real MVP."

"Hell yeah", Havard picked up his pace. There's a tattered baby blanket tied to a railing two levels above us. That would have been a very unpleasant situation. It's not our problem though, this isn't our block.

I held the emergency door open for Havard and followed after him. This was a labor level, there's cubicles everywhere. Any pictures on the desks were turned over or scratched out. Nothing of value here. Maybe there was something in the private office, but the glass walls were broken, the debris is swept into a pile, and the door's lock is stripped.

They raided this place and cleaned after themselves. "There's the board", Havard weaved around the cubicles. The water looked like a black void from up here. I know how to swim but I still wouldn't want to fall into that. At least Baelfire was right, the board was sturdy. He casually walked through the window. I followed.

We had to go through three more buildings before we got to block C. It took a little longer than usual since Havard had to create markers as we went along. This one was a lot shorter than the other, so we ended up the roof instead. White smoke wafted from the metal barrels.

We didn't enter the building, even if it was the easier route. I guess one could say that I am intentionally terrible at my job. "There's a lot of footings in the wall, we can scale the building and use the cable wire to cross", I didn't say anything about the murky water. The cable looked a little loose, but it could hold our weights individually.

Havard stared in my direction for a bit before looking at his arm. My stomach dropped.

"You go first", His voice was surprisingly calm. Havard hates climbing down. Whenever we are stuck in this situation, I normally go first and he'd be my spotter. But this doesn't feel right.

My heart is in my ears, and I can't imagine his face any longer. Just the tinted reflection of myself on the surface and the white smoke that danced behind him. This version isn't very comforting.

"Alright, I'll go first." His footsteps echoed. I maneuvered myself over the edge and on to the first foothold.

I look up. He looms over me like a shadow. The smoke is still dancing behind him.

* * *

"Do you ever wonder why your parents gave you your name?" Havard says quietly. We're standing in an empty pool, wasting time because we're actually ahead of the schedule—_way_ ahead.

Neither of us have seen an indoor pool this big, let alone the fact that it was on the fourth floor. I shrug, "Not really, why?" To the specter, your first name is everything. I guess I'm fairly cultured as far as heritage goes, but I'm not a spiritual person so I never paid these things much mind.

Havard ponders on the nonsecular often though and I'm always willing to talk. He actually was raised by his parents, both of them. That was, until his dad got arrested for "unknown reasons" when he was fourteen. His mom was found dead in a fjord when he was thirteen. He shrugged back, "I'm just curious... how different would you be if you were named like... Romary?"

I smiled a bit, "Romary?"

"Look here, It's just an example... and a nice name." The mask is hiding it, but I'm sure he's doing the thing with his face. When he scrunches his nose a little and purses his lips. "No one's judging your taste in names. I wouldn't know though. I can't really imagine myself being called anything other than Elsa... Elisabeth maybe, that's the longer version."

_"Elisavet", _He tests it out in the thick native dialect then adds an 'a' as a symbol of affection, _"Elisavetta."_

The way it rolls off his tongue excites me, "again, why ask?"

"Well because all names have meaning, I was just thinking... how well do we live up to our names? It already has such a big impact on our personality and how people perceive us", he finally explained himself. That's… actually a really good question.

"Havard means high guardian or high defender. I think I can safely say that you do live up to your name, even if not many would agree", I replied after a while. Names were running through my head. He looks after Baelfire and I with a passion—we all look after each other but Havard really plays the responsible partner out of the three of us.

_Agdar... good, honorable. I guess, I'm not one to judge his character._

_Petra... stone. She actually is cold hearted._

_Hans... god is gracious. Gracious he must be to let Hans get away with all of his crap. I love him but he's a troubled man._

_Kristoff... bearer of Christ. I don't know about this one. He's an honorable guy and cares about Anna, so he's good in my book._

_Baelfire... great fire. He's passionate and forthcoming. Empathetic._

_Johan, same as Hans. Exactly the same, save for my toleration._

_Idunn... ever young. She hasn't aged a day since I was twelve._

_Michael... who is like god, but that's in the form of a question. Odd._

_Alicia... noble, kind. I think she fits her name the best._

_Anna... Anna means grace or favor, but Willhelm means will and desire. John is just a variant of Johan. Nelson means champion—or cloud. I like cloud better. Albert means noble, bright. Eliezer... my god is help. Anna carries a lot of names around with her, I wonder if she ever forgets her own in the chaos. _

My smile turned wry, "Our parents give us our names... so in a sense they guide us towards who they want us to be." Does her character change according to what people expect of her that day, or do the conjectures pile up on top of each other? Maybe that's why... she chooses not to separate herself from those forced upon her.

"I never thought about it like that, but I guess there's always a dimmer side to things. Elsa means "my god is oath" or "my god is abundance"... I'm not quite sure how you fit into that", Havard said. We still have a few minutes to spare in here.

I stretched my arms and did a few trunk twists to release tension in my back. How can anyone fit into that name, "Clearly I've failed to meet that expectation—" I want to add _in my mother's eyes_ "—But I feel as though... as much power a meaning can have, your actions speak much louder. You often hear about how a person ruins a name for another, or parents naming their children after people they've admired and loved. You never assume that a person is nice because they have a nice ring to their title."

I can't see, but I can imagine his expression. He turns to face me and after a pause I picture his lips parting as he tries to find the right words, but the reason slips my mind. My words weren't negative, was my tone bitter?

_"Vetta—" _The building shakes violently, hard enough to send us on our hands knees. It didn't take long for the smell to hit us. I react first, "RS-122. What's happening?"

**E-435: **_**E-435. **__What is going on? I heard an explosion not far from here._

**RS-639:** _**That was a bomb of unidentified origin. Please remain calm while I consult.**_

Havard and I climb out of the empty pool and break into a jog. That explosion was dangerously close to our location, it may have went off in the upper floors.

**RS-639: **_**Two more bombs have went off in random locations far from our field. Origin remains unknown.**_

"RS-537. What—then we shouldn't be out here. Why isn't the base calling us back?"

**RS-639: **_**Base commands pending.**_

I could see the black smoke through a passing window, the bomb went off in a building to our right—which just happens to be connected to this one through a sky bridge. Havard travels a few paces ahead of me with his submachine gun at hip level. Two more explosions go off consecutively, both sounded much farther away than the other. A thought made my stomach drop, "Havard, what if the base planted the bombs?"

Our masks pick up voices, we both stop near a corner and press ourselves against a wall. His head turns in my direction, even if he can't see my face, "Why the hell would they plant bombs in the same block they want us to regulate?" His voice is a bit off.

My bitterness seeps through again and I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Maybe they want to kill us off and make it look like an accident."

It's a dumb comment. We both know why it's dumb but Havard still says it anyway, "They don't have to make it look like an accident if they want us dead."

**RS-639: **_**Resume normal protocol. Finish your tasks accordingly.**_

**E-034: **_E-034. There are explosions going off at random and the base wants us to go on about our goddamn day as if it's nothing?_

**RS-639: **_**Resume normal protocol. Finish your tasks accordingly.**_

**E-034:** _E-034. Do they even know what's going on!? Are the bombs registered?_

**RS-639: **_**I can not disclose that information. Resume normal protocol, finish your tasks accordingly.**_

**E-034: **_E-034. No! Fuck this, I'm a month from my retirement. I have two kids at home waiting for me. I can't be risking my fucking life because this country can't get it's shit together. _

**RS-639: **_**This is base command, finish your tasks accordingly and resume protocol.**_

**E-034: **_E-034. Fuck the protocol! I'll swim back to the fucking base if I have to. Let them discharge me—_

**E-435: **_E-435. Maintain your psyche, enforcer. None of us want to be out here, we all have something to lose. The more man power we have the faster we can clear these blocks and haul our asses back to base before we fucking explode. As your commanding prefect I order you to remain in my sight. This goes for the rest of you. If anyone abandons this goddamn run I swear I will hunt you down and personally execute punishment. Do I make myself clear?_

**RS-639:** _**Yes.**_

"RS-537. Yes."

"RS-122. Yes."

* * *

When we reached block C, they were already aware that we were running through the area—no thanks to the bombs.

At some point I caught Havard planting a device in an office desk drawer. I don't know what it does, or why the license hadn't shown up on the monitor. I don't ask or even let him know I saw. The only concern I have is how many of them he's set up without me noticing.

We couldn't exactly aid them anymore or else we'd look suspicious, and maybe even get caught. Scouts who get caught are sent to Birtavarre for god know's what. It doesn't take much for Regulation Scout to get sent up there for half a year or so. But when they do, they never come back quite... right. Maybe if I wasn't afraid, I'd help more people. If I had nothing to lose—right now I don't have much but I'd be _damned_ if I left Anna because of my recklessness.

Havard and I managed to find five groups. A band of scavenging children who didn't have enough time to properly hide, a family huddling in a sanitation closet, four scheming adults, another family, and a random group of sick people who eagerly surrendered. We've had to put down quite a few too... those who already half dead or too sick to meet our criteria.

**RS-639: **_**E-034. **__Request acknowledged._

In those moments, I felt queasy. We had to wait for a team to come by with a boat to retrieve our findings. We were never told where they are taken. The children would interrogate their parents in the native dialect, others would insult us under the guise of a casual conversation, but often people would simply accept the silence.

All I can do is stand there with them at gunpoint, hoping that my hair remained hidden under my hood. This mask protects me.

_3._

_2._

_1._

I kicked the door open and locked on to the first pair of glowing eyes I saw. He was ten. Someone cried out.

"On your knees!"

The safety clicked off. Everyone scrambled.

"On your knees right now!"

Havard boomed in my ear. His voice rattled me too. One elderly, two adults, three teenagers, two kids, and a toddler screaming their head off.

The man hunched over them, until we only had sight of a tiny angry hand. His soft cooing registered, _"sweet giant be quiet, lest they take our heads."_

I switched to infrared. There was an adult hiding in the bathroom with a weapon. Havard had an easier shot. "Havard, there's one behind the bathroom door" I hadn't turned my sound buffer off since the run started, the captives couldn't hear me.

I kept my aim steady as the sound of splintering wood and amplified cries echoed in my ear piece. He ordered them to be quiet. We traded positions.

I searched their persons thoroughly, making them stand up as I went along. The elder couldn't stand though. Black phlegm stained their cracked lips and chin. Bluish purple veins were visible along the forehead and eyes, sweat soaked clothes. Hemorrhage in both eyes, constricted pupils. They jerked their head in my direction at break neck speed and attempted to reach for my gun. It seems they can't move anything from the elbow below. I don't even have to check their mouth and throat for sores, or their spine for more veins. If this person was able, there would have been one hell of a fight.

An explosion went off.

I guess it's a good thing atrophy got to them before the Ettin's disease did. I stepped over the bucket overflowing with rotten blood and mucus and moved on. They wouldn't last another day, either they'll drown in the black slime or the atrophy will hit their lungs.

So why would the family choose to stick around instead of caring for themselves?

The toddler's screams dialed down to a whine when I took them away from the man for a pat down. Their eyes were too vibrant for a pure bred, just a few shades darker than my own probably. They were sick too it seemed, with a small fever. Only thing on them that looked valuable was the poorly crafted band on their wrist. Oh I get it now, Ymir, like the frost giant.

"Line up, from oldest to youngest. You, hold the baby", Havard directed them with his silencer. The ten year old took the child from me. The gun was back in my grasp.

He stood in the hallway, barrel pointed at the doorway as they filed out with their hands clasping the back of their necks. I always take the back with the kids. "RS-122. Requesting carrier boat from Block C, Building 1706. Two adults, three adolescents, two children, and one toddler", I called in.

**RS-639: **_**RS-122. **__Request acknowledged._

_"Why are they leaving Ullr?"_

_"Ve too old."_

_"But ve'll be alone."_

_"..."_

_"Ve'll be alone."_

_"I know."_

Should I silence them? Havard isn't making the effort either. The adults look uncomfortable, ashamed even. Did I miss something when checking them? No, I was thorough. They had burn marks and—"Havard they may be contaminated and hiding it."

He switched the sound barrier on, so the hostages couldn't hear, "How the fuck can they hide Ettin's?"

I turned the safety off on my gun. I fucked up, terribly, "They have burns, second degree and first degree. They could have mutilated their skin so the veins won't show."

_"I could carry Ullr. I'm strong! We should go back and get Ullr."_

_"What about Ymir?"_

_"Ymir wasn't meant to be."_

_"Why?"_

_"Ymir just wasn't. Ingrid said it herself, it was a mistake."_

He paused, "Should we kill them off then? It's not like we can just leave them behind Elsa, they're not like the elder—they are _active_."

That's the challenging part. Ettin does a significant amount of damage towards the brain. It amplifies rage and anxiety to extreme levels, causing paranoia and sometimes schizophrenic behavior in the host. At the same time it hinders the decision making skills, the regulation of hormones, and shuts down the "flight" in the fight or flight reflex. In most cases, it shuts down the ability to feel pain. There have been times when they would scream about limbs missing or being on fire, but basically you're left with this with this rotting corpse with unrelenting roid rage and absolutely no sense of self preservation.

The thing is, the order of when the symptoms take effect vary. Some people may begin to develop the physical symptoms before the mental ones, and vice versa for others. Sometimes it just... dies—or shuts down temporarily. The host spirals into depression during this period and often kills themselves. Or if the disease is successful, the host dies of a heart attack and it lives the rest of its days feeding off the remains.

The government is more concerned with quarantining the area rather than finding a cure. And because there are so many other god forsaken illnesses that rage in these parts, scientists can't figure out if it's _really _a virus responsible for all this damage or a group of diseases working together. Even if they did, I doubt they'd developed a treatment. All we know is that it's not airborne. So until further notice, we call it Ettin.

"No let's just keep moving", I don't want to kill anybody on this run, "Unless _you_ want to do it."

He remained silent. We both like kids, so it's a matter of who wants to sleep easy tonight. "I guess we'll take our chances", I muttered.

We were right in front of the emergency stairs, we'd have to go down twelve flights and wait. But then a loud bang goes off and everything is white.

"_Go go go!"_

I hear Havard cry out in distress, yelling, and people running off. Before I can react something blunt smashes against the right side of my head. My ear piece cracks, adding a whole lot of static to the chaos.

I swung instinctively and managed to deliver a sloppy but powerful blow to their head area with the butt of my rifle.

As soon as I hear the body drop someone charges and hits me square in the chest. My gun clatters some distance away, the world suddenly swerves and my back collides with the floor. There's a hand around my neck and a terrible weight threatening to crush my rib cage, but he's not squeezing hard enough so there should be another blow coming from... the left.

I grabbed the weapon just in time.

Two shots are fired. The third one makes my attacker limp mid war-cry. His body is dragged off me before he can fall forward.

Turn it off, turn it off—God I hate night vision for this _exact _reason. Flash bombs and fire.

I didn't have anytime to recover, before I was dragged to my feet. "Elsa are you okay?" Havard...

There are spots everywhere. I can't tell if it's specks of blood on the mask or my eyes refusing to recover, both probably. I held on to his suspenders, just to regain my balance. He clasps my shoulder, "Hey! Answer me."

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine", my vision cleared, till all that was left was the blood on my mask. He slid his pistol back in it's holster and pulled me into a tight embrace; it's a small comfort in the midst of chaos. My attacker is dead by headshot, two more are dead behind Havard, and the one I buttstroked was a few meters from where we stood. It looks like I got her throat instead—more importantly the trachea.

She clawed at her swollen neck and writhed. Her face was locked in a terrible cross of horror and hopelessness as she tried to cry.

"Shit..." He whispers. My throat clenches, shit is right. I shouldn't have let them go. Two of the bodies show severe symptoms of Ettin, which means most of this building could be infected. We could have a fucking war in here all because a couple of captives squealed.

This all could have been avoided.

_This wasn't necessary._

The more time we stay here the more we waste. I tore away from him and snatched my gun off of the floor, "We need to find those people _now._ Before they start sending off signals."

If only I had the courage to kill them earlier. We'd have two less people to run after, and then at least one of the teenagers would have been slowed down by the toddler—unless he decided to drop Ymir and run.

"We should split up, that way we cover more ground." That doesn't sound right. This hotel is huge, you always want us to stick together. Well... not on this run. On this run you've disappeared quite a few times.

"Are you sure splitting up is the right thing to do?"

"We don't have much of a choice at this point. A carrier boat is already on it's way, so we gotta bring down something", He started backing up, towards the emergency stairs. "We're going to have to redo the lower levels. Clearly we missed a few specters."

He's right, that was the last group on this floor. People on the upper levels have—_had_ no idea we were here. I slung the rifle over my shoulder and took out the combat knife instead.

Havard slowed his roll to face me, "What about the toddler?"

That's right. The toddler.

"Shoot down anyone who compromises the run. Peaceful resistance will be dealt with shock rods and brute force."

There was that pause again, "Understood."

As soon as he left, I turned to the girl. I didn't swing hard enough, she'll last quite awhile before... It's a really terrifying way to go, at least when I experienced it. Should I—is it necessary? _Look at her, it's necessary._

Angle the head, one clean stab to the nape. First kill of the night.

I stalked down the halls quietly and skimmed through the rooms as I passed. Save for the elder, this section was clear. The emergency door to the thirteenth floor is blocked heavily from the outside, Havard and I noticed before we entered this one. So they'd have to get to the thirteenth floor by other means, ones that require effort. By this logic they couldn't have gotten _that_ far. Though my hearing is stumped because of all the static in my left ear, they can be sneaking around.

I'm not going to even bother turning the night vision on, or the thermal imaging. They obscure the details, plus I'd like to keep my retinas.

Footsteps, loud but light weight. Hard watery panting. It's one of the teens, the younger one...

I slid into the nearest corner, into the darkness and waited. He's a few meters back, to the left. He's going to round the corner and come down this hall because there's a broken elevator some meters ahead to the right and it's the quickest available way to get to the upper floors from this area.

_But is it a necessity?_

17...

16...

**RS-639: **_**RS-537. **__20 meters south, 7 meters west. There is a sanitary closet._

What, why would Havard need to go there?

13...

"RS-122. possible indie route to floor fourteen without floor thirteen inception."

**RS-639: **_**RS-122**__. No indie routes available to floor fourteen without passing through floor thirteen. You will have to scale the building. Do you want a recommended route instead?_

Let's see how Havard reacts. I spoke up before the brief connection timed out, "No, it's fine. Thank you."

7...

6...

5...

**RS-537:** _Elsa, are you okay?_

Of course I'm okay, why wouldn't I be. I have a job, a family, shelter, and access to three meals a day. "Yes, I'm fine", this is fine.

3...

2...

I snatched him from the shadows, it was incredibly easy. He's too weak to put up a fight. I'm not sure if he even attempted to scream. One hand clamped on his mouth and a quick stab to the back of the skull.

_But why is it necessary?_

I propped him up against the wall and stepped back into the hallway. If he was running around in this floor, there's a good chance that the other three are close by. But then there's the possibility that they moved to the upper floor with the older child's aid. Or they're still down here and the older one was running ahead. Or he was hiding something before he attempted to move.

**RS-639: **_**E-034. **__Request Acknowledged._

I turned to the left and froze. The same eyes, the same horrified expression. Speak of the devil I suppose... Did—did he see me kill that guy? No, he couldn't have. Where is Ymir?

_"Headsman, headsman. All shrouded in black", _He knew I'd outrun him. The kid glanced behind him, at the broken window. There's a moment of stillness between us, about a minute at least before he snaps out of his daydreaming.

_"As soon as they catch you there's no going back."_ I took a step forward, and he fearfully jerked back, closer to the window. Broken glass crunching beneath his feet, _"Headsman, headsman. Faceless and bold." _Another quick pause before he hops on the windowsill. No no no no no!

I held out my hands and switched the sound buffer off, "You don't want to go like that." He stopped his mantra to look over his shoulder at me. For such a young existence, this occupation already has a song behind it. I'm not sure whether to be impressed or disgusted. If I stop moving, he acts. If I move, he fucking acts faster.

_If he jumps that way he'll scream, the younger ones always scream. Then the world will hear the death of a twelve year old._

"You'll regret it before you hit the water. Fear will kick in, and you'll try to protect yourself. You'll get what you wanted, but not in the way you think", I managed to advance a couple of paces. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but it doesn't matter. Why the hell would I say that, to a child no less? It won't hurt at all for a kid his size at the twelfth floor.

_But is it necessary?_

It's a necessity.

But why is it a necessity?

The boy shuffled nervously, I had struck something in him. I can almost see the gears turning as he contemplated.

Maybe it's not a necessity.

Not like this.

_Are you sure?_

I took a few steps closer, still too far away to make a difference. He whipped around violently to face me, nearly falling out of the window in the process. There's a hemorrhage in both of his eyes, the Ettin is working fast. He's not the least bit scared. I bet if he survived he wouldn't even feel a thing.

How do you talk a child down from jumping? Especially one you've never known with compromised reasoning. One who loathes you with every fiber of their being, and that's without the knowledge of his kin's blood on your hands.

There's another explosion.

Why am I even attempting when this hinders my mission? This is a problem that's offering to solve itself and yet I choose the unconventional way. Some twisted cosmic message that arrived at the wrong door step because surely_—surely_, I did not ask for this. Fuck me and all I stand for.

The static is oddly loud. My palms are clammy, my stomach clenches, and my throat burns hotter than the fires of hell. But all this kid can see is the cool surface of my black shiny mask. This cloak of poise and indifference to the calamity I harvest—_stop._

There isn't time.

He no longer stares at me but to his right. Whatever it is, it scares him a lot more. I advance with quick steps. His lips are moving but all I hear is static. Another explosion goes off somewhere.

He becomes more hysterical as I close the distance, _"No no no stop—stay away! Don't look!"_

What? Why would he care what I see? I hesitate because of his words—_just for a second I stop my stride_—and in that second he turns in the windowsill.

He launches himself. I sprint.

I semi-dive for him. He's already suspended in air.

The shards of glass fall between us. The hem of his coat snags on my fingertips but the momentum pulls him free. The tiny sliver of hope that escapes me in a gasp. His eyes still focused on something to my left as he bats my hand away. There is no scream, no cries, no words... only static. Liminality and static.

What should have lasted a lifetime, went out faster than a light. What lasted four seconds, felt like forever. His flailing body was engulfed by the black water below. I stared for a minute that easily became three, but that's all my mind would allow. There's a mission to complete.

_Was it necessary?_

**RS-639: **_**E-435.**__ 40 meters west. 3 meter south._

I spare a glance to the left—only a two second glance before walking over the the elevator shaft and scaling up the inside.

**RS-638: **_**R-537. **__Request Denied._

What could Havard possibly ask that would be denied?

The elevator door to the fourteenth floor was open, just as I thought. People are arguing in hushed whispers with rushed footsteps, no one is looking down this hallway. I take the opportunity to climb through the door and slip into the hall in front of me and eavesdropped. My sound buffer was on again.

_"She... She attacked the headsmen with the others."_

_"Fucking hell, that stubborn girl—And Viktor?"_

_"What of Viktor! We have to move, before they come and take us too—"_

_"Shut up Igor! Where. Is. My. Brother?"_

_"I-I don't know, he was supposed to help Gunnar up the elevator shaft and..."_

What to do, what to do... There's five of them down there, two out of five must be infected. I want to kill those chances before I do anything else. They stopped talking and began to move, possibly spreading out to cover ground. Three of them are going to pass this closet, or check it. I pressed my back flat against the left wall, into the shadows I go.

_"Shouldn't have Viktor and Gunnar made it back by now?" _The younger teen, male sex.

_"I wouldn't be surprised if they were taken. Viktor's lungs are weak, he's strong but falls short. Gunnar's as good as dead anyway, the boy gone crazy weeks ago. Only good to come of this is that the bastard child is no longer our responsibility." _Female sex, late twenties.

_"Ymir didn't ask to be born Eliza..."_

_"Yes well, Ingrid didn't need to keep the child either. Or even sleep with that... that __**animal**__."_

_"You're such a bitter ex."_

The third hasn't talked yet, but it doesn't matter. They stalk pass the sanitary closet, completely oblivious to my awful hiding spot. The last one is male sex, he only looks a little older than me. He's the one that looks behind him and breaks into a sprint down the hallway. He doesn't scream, or warn the other two. He just—_shoves_ them aside and runs.

_"Fritjof, what the hell!?"_

Her yell is drowned out by an explosion. It's so loud and close that it shakes the building.

I barely register the knife in my hand; how fast my body propels off the wall; how quickly the blade disappears at the base of her skull; how_ fucking slow_ it takes for the teen to react before I deliver a powerful uppercut to his jaw. He clocks out before the other body hits the floor.

Fritjof, that's such an old name. He disappeared though, straight ahead through the glass doors at the end of the hall. The map says that leads to this... balcony... patio—thing. The proper name slips my mind. It leads to a lounge area which connects to the hall they originally came from. This went to shit really quickly.

Wait but then what's this large room in between this hallway and the lounge...? Oh, an arcade room.

**E-034: **_**RS-122.**__ Are you secure?_

"E-034. I'm secure." I strode in the opposite direction and rounded the corner into the next hallway. From where I stand, I see empty food cans on tables and blankets splayed on damaged furniture. The small café had been _raided. _Beyond this is another hall, there should be rooms there. Two men were looking out the window to my left. One of them has some sort of modified nail gun and the other is holding a bat full of nails. Funny, kinda.

_"We can't wait for Viktor to come, those bastards will be on our asses soon."_

_"Just—give him a few minutes, okay? That's all I ask. There's a bunch of disease crazed people on the thirteenth floor, walking through it is going to be like a fucking mine field for a headsman. We have time."_

So that's why the emergency door was locked from the outside, looks like I dodged a bullet... or twenty. These people use their sick like weapons, "Havard, Stand clear of building 1706, floor 13. It's an infested zone, do not attempt to cross through without backup."

**RS-537: **_Understood._

I leaned around the wall corner and steadied my aim. Pistol in the left, knife in the right. I waited for the man with the bat to turn his back to Igor and put some distance between them.

_"Have you fucking seen how fast those hell hounds sweep through buildings? That is hardly a buffer—fuck that! There is no god damn buffer! They're bombing us now—" _Three dead. I can't hear the click of my gun over the static, but his blood splatters on the window.

_"For fuck's sake Igor trust me—" _I fire just before he sees the mess I made. The man falls, his bat clatters to the floor. Imagine how screwed I'd be if engineers didn't value suppressors enough to actually make them _damn near_ silent in this modern age. If this silencer was from like... 2014 there would have been a huge problem. But the area appeared clear, I even checked the cafe stand.

**RS-638: **_**Code Judas.**__ Three RS units and an enforcer from a nearby squadron have been found dead via gunfire. Be on the lookout for any rogue soldiers. I repeat, we are now under __**code Judas**__._

The balcony patio connects to this area and stops, Fritjof would have alerted them. But they were oblivious... so what the hell is he doing? Where is he?

**RS-537: **_Elsa, are you okay?_

"I'm calm." I really am. My heart rate is low, muscles are appropriately tense, hands are steady, knees are slightly bent, and heels barely touching the ground. That's what I'm conditioned to do and yet... "Are you okay?" Everyone else seems to be experiencing some type of excitement. Their heart rates are much faster than mine.

**RS-537: **_Yeah, I'm just paranoid. _

You hesitated, "Why?" Petra and Johan's heart rates suddenly spike.

**RS-537: **_Why wouldn't I be? There's a Judas. You know how it goes, us half-specters are always the target._

He's not _wrong,_ "I suppose." The infrared is off now, and so is the safety on my gun. I've never been Judas before, it must be a pretty awful feeling. It could be liberating for some, I guess. If you look at it a certain way. Johan suddenly flat lines.

**E-034: **_W-w-we ne-e-eed support—home bomb—f-f-floor was rigged. __**E-435 **__i-is d-d-dead—c-can't—eel m-m-my legs—s-s—hel—_

It's hard to hear with all her static mixing with mine. Petra's heart rate keeps increasing, Baelfire's and Havard's has picked up the pace out of intensity.

**RS-638: E-034. **_Sending a support boat to your location. Remain calm._

I vaulted over a couch to my right and leaned against the wall next the arcade entrance. The door had been left ajar, there was some light in the room. A mini count down went off in my head before I kicked the door open. Nothing in here but more blankets, and pillows, and cans... and liquor. This room smells like sex and it's a little too strong... All these Atari arcade consoles and they choose to fuck on the ping pong table. Hell, _Space Invaders_ is still running.

_Hey sweet-tits, let's get freaky to an 8-bit._ Insert porn audio here.

Just—_awful._

I rolled my shoulders stiffly and made my way across the lounge into the other hall. I did a quick rundown of all the bathrooms, just in case Fritjof is playing games. The hall leads to a pair of double doors, beyond them are hotel rooms.

Through the dirty narrow windows I can see three armed people roaming the hallways, but there are definitely more. There's no way I can avoid them. Tear gas is not an option, neither is negotiation.

_It's necessary._

Two emergency exits, three elevator shafts, and at least fifteen rooms on this floor. But more often, they'll occupy two to three rooms on a level and raid the rest.

Another explosion goes off, this time it's incredibly close to my location. Havard and Baelfire's bpm spikes but mine still hasn't moved.

I shoved the right door open and held it there as a makeshift shield. Aim to the left, take two shots. Four consecutive thumps against the door. Just as I thought, there's another nail gun. Maneuver around the door, aim to the right and fire three more. By the time the fifth shot is fired, four people are rapidly bleeding out on the floor and one is dead. Two men are charging at me, while the other runs off to warn the rest. He drops easy, my bullet to his brain. Can't have anyone running off again.

Certainly not.

The quick shot makes the other two falter, I take the opportunity to get two more headshots in. Halls are clear. Petra has flatlined, Bae's heartbeat drops a little, and Havard's is still pretty high.

Now this team is only composed of half-specters, which means that the base should be calling us back at any moment. The military doesn't trust our kind enough to leave us unsupervised.

I turned the infrared on briefly, it appears I've found what others would call a "nest". They're rushing as fast and quietly as they can, but I'm already standing in front of the suite with my assault rifle. There's no escape route for this room, it's one way in, one way out. So I'll just aim at the door and wait for them to open it. That way they'll be all packed up and ready to go, "RS-122. Requesting carrier boat to block C, building 1706. Quantity inconclusive." How many will I have to shoot down?

I still haven't received a field order yet.

**RS-638: **_**RS-122. **__Request acknowledged._

I could barely hear their harsh whispering over the static, my buffer is off.

_"What if... found... out there... Matthias... It waiting... try... have... chance..."_

_"We... to leave now. Reverie come here—"_

The door snaps open and his eyes widen with shock. Then fear. Then anger. _"Fuck."_

"Get back in the room." He glares at me defiantly, the muzzle is aimed at his throat but a second later he retreats into the room. Every step he takes is mockingly slow. "Clasp your hands behind your head and kneel."

Another explosion goes off and I try not flinch.

Four... Seven... Ten. Ten specters, primarily minors. I'm outnumbered but that's no problem for me, just water under the bridge. Ettin is the problem. How many will be left?

There was an enforcer a week ago. At some point along his run he got infected with Ettin. He already had a bad smoking habit so nobody paid much mind to his complaints while he was out in the field. But when his squad returned to the docks, he ripped his mask off and vomited all over the floor. It was black and his eyes were red. Everyone froze for literally a second. He was about to say something, a cry for help perhaps. Just a second. But by the time he looked up from his mess another enforcer shot him in the head at point blank range with a colt python revolver. Brain matter and blood everywhere. His body was incinerated along with the equipment he used. His family only received a letter of condolence and some cash for their trouble. I was on cleanup duty that day.

There wasn't any hesitation or remorse. No one made the slightest effort to help him, not even me. I would have if I wasn't so afraid of the note Anna would see. If an enforcer was shot down without a second thought, then how would they handle a scout like me? I don't think they can do any worse, that was probably the only moment when we were all seen as equal. When they all met on a common ground of fear.

They're afraid of dying.

I'm afraid of being expendable.

Everyone in the room followed my order _except _for the man at gunpoint. That doesn't seem quite right. His eyes never leave my mask.

_"Fucking hell—just kneel! Please just kneel down!"_

_"Stop trying to be the hero."_

_"We don't need another body."_

_"Agnarr please!"_

He takes a step forward and by instinct I take a swing. Everyone cringes when he drops like a dead weight. After a second he pushes himself up and whips around on his knees fast enough to be considered a threat. The muzzle is pressed between his manic eyes and I thank god that my finger was not on the trigger at this very moment. He yells, _"Do it! I fucking dare you to do it. Like you did to Matthias—to Dunham and Jakov and…"_

He tries to fight back tears, but between my powerful right-hook and his perfect view of the blood puddle in the hall, they just flow down his angry face. All this person can see is their reflection on my mask and that incites them more, _"They're dead. They were people with lives and names and families and they are dead __**because of you**__. Someone loved them—I loved them!"_

When I was growing up, Mama would always remind me the difference between a survivalist, a freedom fighter, and an extremist.

A bit of spit flies when he yells_, "Can dogs like you even understand the value of life!? We're just pests in your eyes. Stray animals you don't want picking around your garbage cans. Well you know what, fuck you! Fuck you and all you stand for—"_

The survivalist advocates well, to survive. They are self-sufficient, flexible, and trained in the art of self-preservation. They do whatever they need to insure that they are breathing; nothing more, nothing less.

Someone pleads for Agnarr to stop but he's too riled up now. His lips are moving but the static is drowning everything out again.

The freedom fighter however, is an individual who takes part in a violent struggle to achieve a political goal. Though their actions are sometimes questionable, their intentions are often explicit. They strive for the right to live.

His mouth stops moving for a moment, just before the static dulls. The people around us are trembling, a lot of them stare at me with pleading eyes while others keep their faces to the ground. He talks again, _"Well? What are you waiting for, do it. Shoot me! Shoot me down right now!"_

The extremist holds fanatical views, especially if this individual resorts to or advocates extreme action. It's often the extremist that changes how a society perceives a community. They will die for their cause and take as many lives as they need if that's what they find necessary. They are dangerous but done right, they are efficient.

_"Do you even understand what I'm saying!?"_

Mama once got on her knees and begged me to stay inside while specters marched the streets and had sit ins. I was so goddamn tired of being treated like a parasite, but I also didn't want to disappoint her. I wanted to live, she wanted me to survive, but now I don't think I even fit on this spectrum.

I'm waiting for my field order.

I'm waiting for the extraction order.

I'm waiting for myself to pull the trigger.

That's when the bomb I was waiting for explodes. The building shakes violently and there's a ring so loud it chases away the static for a brief moment. A few ceiling panels fall, glasses are broken, fire alarms go off, two captives scream, but I feel oddly calm. My heartrate drops a bit.

_"Yeah."_ It slips out before I remember who I am and where I stand; how heavy this gun is and how I'm dressed. His face melts from rage, to shock, then betrayal. He tries to to stand again, I push him back down with my muzzle.

"_I know", _for some reason I can't switch my dialect. The static is loud, _"I gave your loved ones the option to comply or be eliminated and they chose not to cooperate, there's nothing more to it."_

"_This building is on fire, and the sick people "you loved" are running around without any fucks to give about their wellbeing but all the intent to take your head. I'm giving you the opportunity to rethink your decision so the people in this room won't have to burn a candle under your name. Help me help you, and the people in this room", _I can't read the tone of my own voice but Agnarr's attitude shifts. I don't know why I'm giving this kid a second chance when he's wasted a good two minute off of all of our lives. He swallows hard and nods, "o-okay…"

**[FIELD ORDER ACQUIRED]**

**[FIELD ORDER: **_**EXPOSE JUDAS**_**]**

I stare at the command strip for a moment before scanned the room briefly, they're just kids. None of them are healthy enough to really defend themselves, but they have a chance to make it out alive. Heavy black smoke had already began to hide the ceiling and manic laughter and screams barely register over the roars of fire, nervous muttering, and static in my ears.

_Ettin. Ettin. Fire. Death. Falling buildings. Ettin. Debris. Anna. Home. Ettin. Gotta go home. Static. Gotta protect. Gotta survive._

It's only 12:23.

I know who Judas is.

And I've spared this boy's life.

But I have a feeling that extraction order won't be coming any time soon.

* * *

Ruckus laughter and sobs seeped through the two black doors. When I entered the cafeteria, I was slapped on the back and handed a beer by this guy named Steve Rogers. He's the most american american I've ever met… Like the ideal american that american's strived to be—Captain America, that's the pop culture reference I was looking for. It was clear Steve had his fair share of liquor by the red in his face. He dragged me to his table and showed me off like a proud father—or at least that's what I assume that would feel like. They gave me titles like "Honorary Ghost Buster" and "Rambo" and " Master Chief" and some other things I don't want to remember.

I didn't drink the beer but I smiled because I was afraid they'd turn violent if I didn't. Captain America wrapped his arm around my neck with this big dopey grin on his face and fatigue in his eyes. He called me a good soldier, an example, because I made all of the right shots today. It was a compliment but it stung. Alcohol makes people color blind and that isn't always a good thing.

I slipped away when I had the chance and snuck off to my bunk, then to the musty library. The books on the two lower shelves suffered water damage, but I only pulled the trigonometry and physics textbooks from the middle. I would have sat in the far corner and try to pick up where I left off, or at least teach myself something new but I couldn't focus for the fucking _life_ of me.

So instead I'm pacing around in the communication center because it's the only thing that doesn't leave me feeling sick and useless. Bae has been watching me for the past ten minutes now with this concerned look on his face; each time I pass him I narrowly avoid his gaze because I'm not sure what to say to him without having a meltdown. After another three minutes he finally pulls me into an embrace and presses his lips firmly on my temple.

It's enough to even out my breathing and clear my head. His hands lay flat against the small of my back and over the nape of my neck. "Elsa you're tired as hell, we can sneak into the library if you really this… disturbed by today", Bae murmurs against my skin.

That's when I pull away from him and clasp his hands instead. He's right, I'm tired and I feel like crap and I'd love nothing more than to just cry myself to sleep on his shoulder while Havard rambles about something odd like astrology. But I've also been desperately waiting for one of the line managers to call my name over the intercom and say someone wishes to speak with me. I tiptoe _just_ _a little_ so I can kiss him on the lips, Baelfire returns it eagerly. When we part he gives me an understanding look. I still feel the need to say it out loud, "I'm expecting a call from someone special... afterwards I swear."

"Alright… I'm pretty sure Havard has been trying to get a hold of you, but take all the time you need." My throat clenches but I nod anyway.

_**RS-122; Foss, Elsa. Please report to the communication center, Booth 6.**_

My stomach flips and judging by the goofy smile on Bae's face I must look excited. He squeezes my hands affectionately before letting me go. It only takes three strides to reach booth six but when I pick up the phone all of the air just falls out of my lungs, "Anna."

"Elsa! H-Hey..."I can hear all the excitement and relief in her voice. It's easy to picture her tucking a strand of hair back bashfully and pursing her lips when she tries to hide a giddy smile. Her eyes would light up her entire being and there would be this light shade of pink among all those freckles. "I uhm, I missed—how are you? How've you been?"

I feel like I just got punched the chest but the fact that I'm talking to her lessens the blow. How honest should I be? I don't want her to worry over me, not with all of the shit she goes through on a daily basis. I cross my free arm over my chest and smile sadly, "I went on a run today, things got… out of control."

Her tone went from anxious to serious quickly. Her eyebrows would knit together and her shoulders would square, "How out of control? There are weren't any news reports or forums to check—you'd think there would be some type of coverage—"

"Anna, don't think about it, trust me. I've probably told you too much already _just_ by saying something was wrong", I leaned against the wall of the booth and side. If there wasn't any type of indication in the news then there must have been some really deep shit going on when I was out there. Which means I might be called in for questioning or whatever. There's a pause before she sighs, "Fine… but stay careful okay? Please try."

I'm already trying so hard to come home, I can't help it if I get a little reckless sometimes. I want to tell her everything I did today like normal people do. I want to tell her about all the people I've killed, how many buildings I saw tumbled around me—how I was in some of those buildings as the fell; I want to tell her about the Ettin driven people and how they smiled even if their skin was on fire, I want to tell her about the elderly I've had to leave behind, and children I've had to guide through gunfire and debris. I want to tell her about the people I've apparently "saved".

And of course I want to tell her about the bombs that went off at the oddest of times—you had no idea _where_ o-or_ fucking how they were planted—they just __**exploded**_, how I lost two teammates, and I went through most of my run alone because Havard abandoned me.

I want to tell her about the war crime I committed.

I want to tell her about the suicide I couldn't stop.

And the static—_Jesus fucking Christ all of that static._

But it all seems too grimdark for a call like this, and we'd run out of time before I could even get through half of it all. I've had days not much better than this but something... _hurts_. I chuckled quietly, "I always try love, you know that. How's your day been? How's Na'ma doing?"

Anna's silent for a few seconds before she squeaks out, "I've been the same really… I had an assimilation session today, this time I'm entering the mind of Marie Curie. She's a little weird but it's nice to have some diversity. Granny's waiting for you to come home so she can give you your pres—oh h-hey it's midnight! Happy Birthday!"

The way she exclaims it make me smile like an idiot, like we're kids again and there's a tiny chocolate cake waiting for me on the kitchen counter in the morning. But I have to double check the monitor on the wall just to confirm a of this is real. 00:01, Tuesday, December 21, 2021. I'm twenty years old now. "Huh would you look at that, I'm officially old as balls", I joked. That's a lie, I always feel like I'm too young.

She laughs softly, "Trust me, I know what being old as balls feels like… how's the physics study going by the way? Have you finished the text yet?"

"No, I just couldn't focus today..." I tried to find the right words, "It's weird how... when the military takes custody of you, they immerse you in really specific things like mechatronics and MEMS yet manages to keep you so ignorant to the basics."

"Well... when you come home, we can sit down and I can be your tutor."

There's this slight twinge in my chest, "That'd be wonderful."

* * *

_**Trigger Warnings: Child Deaths, Death, Suicide.**_

**This was a very long, grim chapter that had an even longer wait. But! The good news is that the next chapter is already done and filled with nothing but good times between the sisters. It'd be a dick move to leave off like this. Thank you for your patience and staying with the story this long. Critique is appreciated, it'd be nice to know if I need to cut back on certain things. Especially fine details like dates and statistics, because I cannot do math.**


	8. Welcome Home

_10:12, Thursday, February 6, 2022. Eskedal, Norway._

_You Are: __**Anna Jacobs**_

_Mood: __**Anxious**_

* * *

"Mom are you sure this is the right port?"

"Yes Anna, I'm positive this is the right station. Do you want to check the board again?" She's getting annoyed with me now but there's a little smile on her face. She's just as anxious as I am.

_God I miss her._

We've been waiting for _8 minutes_ now, only because mom asked if I wanted to come early. In my excitement I said yes, Adgar scolded us for leaving because the trains are organized by number and ranking. So even if we came on time, we'd have to wait another _5 minutes_ just for Elsa's ferry to make the stop.

_Her laugh. The way she smiled._

It feels like a zombie shat maggots in my chest and sewed it back up.

...

I'm sorry that you haven't noticed by now but I am _not_ a pleasant person.

_Her eyes, her hugs._

"No", I bounced from one foot to the other. It's been snowing for a while now. I probably should have put on a heavier jacket, but that's irrelevant. When I look around it's like a color accentuated black and white photo. Though the harbor was already a spectrum of gray, the snow and black clad soldiers really sold it. Then comes the friends and family buzzing around the scene in normal clothing. It's all kisses and warming hugs, but the dark figures move stiffly. Like they're playing with mannequins. I clutched the pocket watch.

_The way she often said my name._

A ship horn went off. I hadn't bothered to check, but people were becoming more alert. Idunn squinted in the sound's direction, "I think that's Elsa's." Yeah, that's what I thought last time and my heart still stings from the disappointment. Soldiers from the last bus were still lingering around.

_Jesus fucking Christ I miss her._

The horn was a lot louder the second time, so I spared a glance. The ship was definitely sailing towards this dock. Little black silhouettes were running around on the deck and hanging around the railing. As they got closer you could pick out who was from where; the well off, the underclass, and the half-specter. People are waving enthusiastically, kids are staring in awe.

The third horn makes my heart skip a beat, the ship had docked. Boarding ladders are being lowered and secured, the soldiers are filing out two at a time and yelling to each other. They register with the awaiting enforcers before flooding into the crowd. That's when everything starts to become chaotic.

_There's a lot of yelling. Sweaty men are running around in unkempt suits and papers are flying everywhere. Numbers on boards are crashing and rising, only to flat line again—92—46—2—12—0—173—0—0—4—0—_

Something pats my lower back, the men become translucent. But numbers are still dancing in my peripherals. Idunn's voice makes the papers go away, "Go look for her Anna, I'll get the car warm." You're chickening out, there's a waver in your voice. But then again, it's been _379_ _seconds_ since the boat had arrived and I haven't moved a damn centimeter. Idunn's gone before I can will myself forward. Once I take the first step I'm awkwardly half-jogging around the area. It's hard to maneuver when there's people violently squeezing each other and swapping saliva. There's a lot of half-specters this time. They always have a certain look in their eyes.

More time passed, and I broke out into a full jog. Soldiers were still filing off the boat, but the irrational side of me was saying she was dead or hospitalized somewhere. Which is stupid because then we would have been notified... or the notification could just be late.

My throat is starting to burn—but then my eyes catch on a particular shade of blue. There's this beautiful warming sound that transcends the ambiance; an endearing expression that flickers between moving bodies. There's a man next to her on crutches, he talks but his words are lost in the wind. She's carrying his bag for him I suppose, That's something she'd do. Something my Elsa would do.

I don't know why I'm just standing here and staring. I'm waiting perhaps...

...

If I knew what I was waiting for, don't you think I would have said so the first time?

...

There's another man walking with them though, with his arm slung around her shoulders. I don't want to just walk up to them and... I don't know. Something stupid, I've always been good at fucking up the simplest things.

The healthier guy leans down to kiss her temple, the other one chuckles, Elsa smiles. I look to the ground as if I saw something I shouldn't have seen. Parts of me are happy, other parts are indifferent, one is a little crestfallen.

...

Well gee golly gosh anon, I wasn't aware that Elsa was a human being with romantic and sexual needs that I am unable to satisfy. I thought she was born solely to keep me from shooting up a building.

...

Please don't get smart with me right now, my mood has already dropped a bit. _3 seconds _pass before I look up again, now all I see is the stark blue of her irises.

The perfect arch of her brows and awestruck expression. It only lasts _half a second_.

A gorgeous smile blooms across her face right after and lights up her eyes. I can't hear her but by the way her mouth moves I swear to god she said my name.

The bags she carried are on the ground, the men are just standing there, she runs to me. I run too with my heart lodged in my throat.

As soon as I'm in her arms she lifts me into the air and the momentum causes us to spin, I can't stop myself from giggling—_giggling_ anon.

My feet touch the concrete and she kisses my brow, my bridge, the corner of my lips. It's precise and desperate but tentative and I feel... I feel... wholesome—_loved_.

This time I drag her into an embrace. My nose is buried in her neck, her hands are firm against my back. I finally choked out, "_Christ,_ I missed you. I missed you so much." How long have we been like this? I don't want to let go. The first time I did she left for years. The second time she left for weeks but they were longest weeks of my life. By Einstein's theory, the next time I let go it should only last half a minute but I don't want to take that risk.

Elsa doesn't say it back, she doesn't have to. Her actions are loud enough. We finally give each other some space. My hands remain at her waist, she cradles my face with her own gloved ones. It's been _6 weeks _since we stood face to face—face to chest really.

Even through all of this joy, when she takes the time to study me I feel anxious. She brushes her thumb against the scar across my nose, the small crescent under my left eye, and along the short line above my left eyebrow. Elsa's loving expression only falters when she catches the patch of silver in my hair, but she doesn't call me out on it.

Instead her gaze meets mine and that's when I realize—"Let me just get my stuff", she pats my shoulders once before jogging back to get her bags and hug the smiling men good bye. One pecks her forehead.

I shoved my hands back in my pockets and inhale sharply, my cheeks tingle from smiling so hard. I don't even realize that I counted the seconds while she was away... it was _27\. _Elsa wraps an arm around my shoulder and I clasped her hand. A few people give us looks, I bet a good portion of them know me from school but that only makes me smile more. The only thing that bothers me is the bronze statue of a bull floating in the middle of the harbor.

We walk out of the area and past the guards on duty. Kristoff is actually working as one for community service. He spots us from his post and does a double take, then he gives one of his endearing smiles and waves. I nod, Elsa waves back with her free hand then adjusts the straps of her duffel bag.

Idunn sends a text on her location and I find her used car waiting about _50 meters_ to our left. It's the kind with only two doors and you gotta pull the passenger seat forward to get into the back. She's had it long before Elsa was born. Elsa smiles at her and waves when we approach, Idunn's eyes light up and I can hear the muffled greeting.

I open the passenger door and climb in the back, Elsa throws the duffel in the trunk. When she gets in the passenger seat, Idunn shifts gears and merges with the line of cars trying to get out. She spares Elsa a side glance and a smile. It's awkward but caring, that's understandable, "How was the boat ride? With all the storms that's been forming lately, there must have been some trouble."

Elsa chortles, "It was definitely... wild. The waves were tossing us all over the place and the freezing rain iced the deck. Quite a few of us got sick, some people even broke a limb, but nothing I couldn't handle. How was it in Arendelle? I heard that all the eastern coastal cities were getting hit with the after effects."

"Oh yeah, power outages, lots of sleet, and the streets would be flooded days at a time—especially in our area. The superintendent of education had even called and pardoned everyone in the flooded areas from attending school. That didn't stop _Anna_ from trudging out in rain boots and trying to walk to campus. Ags had to drag her back inside multiple times and patrol the front door."

For some reason I feel a little embarrassed at the emphasis she puts on my name, "Online classes aren't the same as live, it's easier to get distracted."

"You what is also very distracting? Pneumonia, hypothermia—the flu. It's a new year and you haven't even gotten your shots yet", she shot back.

Elsa laughs, "I think it's pretty promising, that takes dedication. Come hell or high water _I will do what I gotta do_." We finish off the phrase in unison and Mom sighs in exasperation. There's a smile on her face.

She asks Elsa if she's hungry or if her stomach is still funny from the trip. Elsa assures her that she's fine and that lunch would be good. Mom doesn't ask me though because even if I say I'm not hungry I always end up stealing off her plate; the catch was that I had to pick the type of restaurant. We end up going to a small burger joint in the less crowded side of town.

Mom ordered the special burger of the day, Elsa asked for cheesy fries, I got a chocolate shake and chicken strips because I can't exactly _steal_ _a burger _without looking like a jackass. The waiter is nice to us, especially towards Elsa. We talk—or mom and Elsa talk while I observe with minor input. They've mastered verbally dancing around each other and it's hard not to just watch.

Like a badMinton match with two _really_ competitive players who only spikes the shuttlecock.

...

Haha yeah I know, shuttlecocks.

"How is it at the children's hospital? Last time I remembered you couldn't catch a break." In other words, _do you make an effort to stay home once in a while now that I'm gone?_

Mom dodges the silver lining like it's nothing, "We've had a lot more kids over the past few years, especially for respiratory issues. There's been a couple of cases where they've gone partially blind… But thankfully the number of hands have increased as well. I'm not called in as much, so I get to keep an eye on Agdar and Anna when they're home."

…

Yeah she's a nurse. She's specialized mostly in pediatric, geriatric, and private duty. These days she's still in the pediatric field, but spends a lot of her time in the ER or on home care.

…

Idunn is amazing at her job—which is good for my dad and I since we're a pair of hardasses when it comes to taking care of our health. I hate calling her for help sometimes but… I can't always keep up my spitefulness, sometimes the pain is overwhelming.

…

My sister's a regulation scout, my dad's an enforcer, and my mom is a nurse.

And I'm the government's bitch.

...

"That's definitely an improvement, it's good to know there are more people in the medical field", Elsa nods before stuffing a few fries in her mouth. It appears the shuttlecock is moving so fast the fans can't even _see_ it, or are our players just swatting the air. Idunn takes a sip from her soda then asks, "How are things at home?" Oop, there it is, out of bounds.

"Home?" Elsa repeats innocently. Her brows knit together in confusion and her head tilts slightly to the left. My heart feels like it's been kicked off a two story building. Idunn catches the silver lining as well and purses her lips.

There's a pause, "How're things Anna? Is everything alright?" Wait what, me?

"O-oh uhm, yeah. Overall everything is fine, but there's always room for improvement. I managed to bring my average in Stat up to a 96.7, I'm feeling pretty confident about my mid-semester assessments, and I've racked up enough community service hours to cash in for vacation time", I completely avoid my social life or the work I do.

I don't want to tell her how many times I've woke up in the middle of the night trying to claw a bullet out of my chest that wasn't there, how I've started to feel the gentle caresses of dead lovers and how much my heart _aches _for them even if we've never met, how I died several different deaths while having dinner the other day, how many hours I spent scrubbing blood off my hands that shouldn't have been there, or about the burning bodies I found in my closet. I don't want to tell her about the episode I had two weeks prior because the assimilation session didn't go the way it should, how my therapist had to adjust my medication 4 times while she was away, how I completely forget my name until it escapes her lips in a way only she can accomplish, how hard I've tried to find the rest of me in this patchwork I call a brain without her around to remind me.

I don't want to tell her because it's literally all in my head and I'm not strong enough to handle it. Maybe if I tried a bit harder I can get past all these memories that aren't mine but it's… hard, oh so hard. I do however—want to tell her I love her… and that I'm trying, because that's what she wants me to do.

Elsa's stare lingers, like she caught a glimpse of the mess I tow around before nodding to Idunn, "All is fine at home it appears. Minor adjustments could be made but home is good."

Mom casts her eyes down and nods deeply, this odd smile was in place, "I'm glad."

After we finish eating, we drive back to Arendelle. The trip was quieter than before and by the time we get back the sun was still at a comfortable position in the sky. Mom tells Elsa about the dinner Grandma had planned and how she was invited to come. It's been years since Elsa and Grandma saw each other, she says yes with very little hesitation. When we slow to a stop in front of her apartment I mindlessly grip the handle, Idunn asks where I'm going and says that Elsa needs her rest.

I feel embarrassed because she's definitely right, but Elsa quickly says that she wants me to come over and that she'll make sure I get home before curfew. Mom glances between us then agrees—you know, the way moms do when they're skeptical.

When Elsa opens the door we wave Mom off. When the door closes behind us we visibly relax. "I'm going to take a quick shower and change alright?" She calls to me from the hallway.

"Don't drown", I've already set my knapsack on the couch and placed my folded pants somewhere safe.

…

Pants are the devil's work, there's nothing you can say to change my mind about it. I walked out onto the balcony, there hasn't been any snow for the past few days so it's relatively clear.

Cars are still speeding down the highway, toys are still littering the balcony to my left, and as if on cue Black Eye slips past his glass doors and onto his balcony with a lit blunt. But this time he has pants on, and his face has healed since then, the bridge of his nose is crooked.

We've exchanged glances a couple of times in the hallways at school, but nothing more than that. I wave at him, he nods back. I don't know what he does after that, my attention goes back to all the speeding cars below us. I don't keep track of time or of the chill that creeps up my legs.

That's a nice looking—"I wonder what's so interesting out here."—_Christ._

I nearly jumped out of my skin, but firm hands hold me down by the waist. I looked over my shoulder and tried the best I could to glare, "Elsa what the shit?"

…

It's hard to be pissed when she has this mirthful look in her eyes, "Sorry love." She then looks past me, at the cars, and her smile loosens.

No no no, I take her hands in mine and twist us around so her back faces the highway, "I haven't given you your gift yet." I don't notice how close we were until her knee brushes between my inner thighs when she leans against the railing. Elsa runs her thumb over my knuckles and I have to fight the urge to lean forward and kiss her.

"What'd I say about spending money on me?" Elsa doesn't like being "spoiled", which means anything over 10 dollars is bad. My present is around 140 so she definitely won't be pleased at first but it's worth it. She's worth it and so much more.

"That you don't know how to accept my awkward displays of affection and must have them thrust upon you with rigor whenever attempted."

"That sounds _absolutely nothing_ like what I say", her eyebrow raises.

"I paraphrased", I shrugged and tugged her gently towards the sliding door, "c'mon, you'll love it I swear." She looks over me once before returning my crooked smile with her own.

I ended up dragging her inside while she playfully protested. Netflix was already running on the tv screen, there were only a couple bottles of soda on the coffee table because Elsa had cleaned the apartment of food before she left. We had just eaten anyway, so it was all good. She took a seat on the couch and watched as I sat on the opposite side and dug through my knapsack. "You swear I'm going to like this?"

"Yep."

"What if I don't?"

"Then I'll just return it and drag you to stores with the money I get back", I chuckled when she made a face.

I rewrapped the box this morning, even though the paper from a few months ago was still good—even changed out the bow for a new one because the knot had loosened over time.

…

Yes, I know how to actually tie ribbons into bows on boxes.

…

It's a stupid skill but it's useful sometimes, especially when it comes to Elsa. She takes pleasure in the little details.

You'd think I'd be nervous or awkward even but everything comes… so easily. I barely register the soft curl of my lips or how open my gestures are when I present my gift to her. Judging by the surprise on her face, I must look pretty fucking excited.

Elsa took the package from me carefully, her bottom lip was caught between her teeth.

She glances at me.

Then at the present.

She turns it a couple of times.

Then hums quietly before glancing between me and the box again.

Her cheeks redden, her entire body gesture turns bashful.

She stares at the package for a couple more seconds, only Elsa can stretch my patience like this. "This... feels expensive", she finally mumbles as she runs her fingers over the blue ribbon.

"Oh no trust me the paper was from last year's Christmas party and I got the ribbon from Mom's sewing kit, I didn't waste a penny."

…

What? I'm a jackass, "However if you check the inside, the box was probably like 25 cents. Plastic may go for about say 10… maybe 15 cents."

Elsa rolled her eyes and untied the bow I worked hard on then tore away the paper. The box was plain which only made it look more suspicious on my behalf. She gave me another look, my heart thumped harder.

"You know this is the exact weight of a horse dildo from Sully's Sultry right?"

"How do you know the _exact_ weight of a horse dildo from Sully's Sultry Shop?" I do know actually, I weighted the box just to fuck with her. It was Sully's idea.

"B-Because she's a good friend with a bad back that needs help taking stock."

"Stock eh? That doesn't sound the least bit suspicious."

"Anna!"

…

It's a sex shop that sits between our neighborhoods. She used to go to school with Elsa, but she dropped out to work the family shop with her parents. Sully is her surname, I don't know her first name and Elsa just calls her Sully so that's what I call her too. She's a smart person.

…

I don't concern myself with her romantic or sexual life anon. I thought this was implied before, "open it."

…

I'm not very straight anon, I thought that was apparent.

When she flips the wings open and moves the black paper out of the way, all I can see in her eyes are stars.

"It's a school approved tablet—I didn't actually get it from the school! But it's the brand they recommend at the college, I bought it using my student discount… and because it's registered under my name you have access to the mass library, which means anything having to do with the liberal arts. However I don't have complete access to major specific textbooks online like architectural studies or neurology because, well, I don't have those classes. I'd have to pay a fee of like 4 credits for whatever files to be open for three months—but I have absolutely no problem if you wanna make a purchase! There's about 40 credits saved up on my account since I just use the hard copies at school or share with an acquaintance, there's no point in letting them collect dust. You can also annotate, highlight, and write notes directly in the text—sweet fuck I'm rambling uhm..."

I ducked my head awkwardly and tucked a strand of hair back in place. My cheeks felt like they were on fire, "Do you—do you like it?"

Elsa had been studying the tablet since I had started nervously word vomiting about technology. I don't think I've ever met someone who loves learning as much as Elsa does, and the fact that she wasn't able to receive the high school experience or even have the chance to go to college just breaks my heart.

It bothers me how the military only teaches _very_ specific subjects to the kids they conscript—just enough to make use of the soldier but it doesn't compare to an actual school education. I remember seeing her so upset when her aptitude test came in years ago, how she was assigned as a field runner instead of a navigation unit or a tactician. At least then the curriculum would have something she was interested in.

I just thought that… if they won't give her the opportunity I could try.

When I find the courage to look up again she's beaming at me with glossy eyes and reaching for me, the tablet and box had been set on the coffee table, "Anna come here."

I don't waste any time crawling across the couch. This might be wishful thinking but if I was a bit older and a little less related I swear she would have kissed me without any restraint. Instead I'm wrapped up in her arms again with this sense of completion.

"Thank you so much, I-I really wasn't expecting anything like this. I love you—_and _the gift. It's wonderful", there's a slight quiver in her voice but I can tell it's from happy tears not bad ones. There are goosebumps where her breath hits my neck, "I just wanted to make you smile, that's all."

What the fuck that was lame. You could have said it back or something, or came up with a better line.

"You were already enough", she laughs. The sound warms my chest and I can't help but hold her a little tighter and smile like an idiot, "But you deserve so much more."

She doesn't reply, instead her hold tightens, she rubs my shoulder. I feel like there's something she wants to say but she doesn't know how. I don't know what to say either but it doesn't hurt to try I suppose, "Want me to show you how the system works? I promise I'm much better than the tutorial."

Elsa laughs again but this time it's much quieter; the psychologist in me says it's a signal—that she's hiding something, the soldier says she's just tired, the fifties mother says she's having boy trouble, but I feel like they all need to _stop_ and _listen_. "Yeah, of course."

* * *

After I showed her how the tablet worked we spent the rest of our time cuddling on the couch and watching whatever Netflix thought was best for us. We talked about life away from each other; I told her about the stupid things Hiccup and Kristoff had dragged me into and how Hans got in trouble with his dad again. She told me more about Havard and Baelfire because she wanted me to meet them sometime.

There were moments when the television was simply background noise and neither of us had anything to say, when I could focus on the steady beat in her chest and her fingers as she traced circles against my arm.

"You alright?"

I jumped, "Y-yeah I'm fine, just thinking." We're walking home—well, I'm walking home and Elsa's walking me half way despite my feeble protest. Somewhere along our walk my hand got caught in hers, she's being a lot more affectionate than usual. Not that I mind, but it's making it a lot harder for me to hide. She gave me a look, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah. I was wondering what my schedule will be tomorrow, that's all", that's a lie. I'm fantasizing about domestic partnership with my sister when we're in our thirties. Why? I don't know, don't ask.

…

Well I can't exactly _marry_ my sister.

…

I mean, yes I can but it's still a really fucking big social taboo anon. Elsa already has a fair chance of being dragged into a alleyway simply because she _exists_, what the hell do you think marrying her sister would do? On top of that, she'd be repulsed by the idea.

She nods slowly, "Oh yeah, that's right. I guess I should start planning as well."

Wait, planning? I gave her a look, "You get the next few days off, don't you?"

"Yeah but, to cheat death as much as I do, it'd be a waste to spend even a day at home", She instinctively rubs at the scar across her neck. My skin prickles.

…

I don't want to talk about it, "As long as you don't push yourself."

Elsa squeezes my hand softly and smiles, "Don't worry about it… speaking of which, what's with this?" She points at the silver in my hair.

Uh oh. I duck my head, "O-oh um, there was another malfunction with the assimilation a couple weeks back. They gave me more than I could handle and this is sort of what's left over from the mental stress. The doctors thought it was best to give me a break for two months, so I haven't been back since." I was an absolute mess afterwards.

"They should just shut everything down for good and be done with it", Elsa said. I don't have to look up to tell that she's angry. "It's not like they even listen to you anymore."

She's right, they don't. But I'm so tired of fighting with them… I shrugged. I couldn't really think of anything to say. We reached the halfway point, our special spot by the water. The sun is setting but the sky is covered in clouds so it just a weird orange. I don't want to let go of her hand and she seems to share the same sentiment as me because _neither _of us are budging. A minute passes before I finally let go of her hand, "Alright, I guess… I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow", Elsa held out her arms and I instinctively went in for the hug. Short and sweet, I end up walking away with just the slightest bit of pep in my step. I can feel her eyes linger as I leave.

* * *

**Guess who's back, back again. With happy floof. And stuff. In this angsty dystopian. Anyhow! Yeah, I hope you guys like this chapter. Thanks for pointing out some hiccups with the story's inconsistency. It's become apparent that I don't know basic math? So to clear things up without having you guys go back and reread the story:**

**55% - Basic Citizens.**

**43% - Are not citizens of Arendelle but are recognized civilians of Norway. They are entitled to the bare essentials such as food, water, and shelter.**

**2% - Specters.**


End file.
